Ex Sanguis
by Aytheria
Summary: It's summer and Harry is whisked off to a different dimension where he finds new family and a lost heritage. It all seems too good to be true, but what is Aunt Petunia not telling him? And is everything really as good as it seems? AU from OotP; Elves
1. Summer

**Title: **Ex Sanguis (Version 2.0)

**Author: **Aytheria

**Beta'd by: **xxbreuddwydioxz (aka, my darling sister the grammar-freak)

**Rating:** PG-13 (for occasional swearing, life-threatening situations and over-enthusiastic elves)

**Disclaimer: **All unrecognisable material belongs to me, otherwise anything else belongs to J.K. Rowling...oh, and whatever you recognise of the pilfered and butchered language belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien

**Summary:** It's the summer after Harry's disastrous fifth year at Hogwarts and Harry, returning to his relatives for another summer of misery, suddenly finds himself whisked off to a different dimension where he discovers new family and a lost heritage. It all seems too good to be true, but what is Aunt Petunia not telling him? And is everything really as good as it seems? HBP Non-compliant.

**My only pre-chapter AN is below. Please find the section pertinent to you and read before reading the actual story. Thank you.**

**Notes for returning readers:** Firstly, I know you're all flaming mad at me for leaving you all on a cliffhanger for so long, and now you're going to have to wait even longer to get back to that point. But in the meantime, I recommend re-reading the story in its new version. You'll find a lot of things haven't changed, as a lot of the changes were superficial (writing style, grammar, etc...) but where I _have_ made plot changes and/or added material, it's important that you read it.

However, I understand if a lot of you don't want to be bothered re-reading the same material, and so to compromise, I've decided to post a note at the beginning of each chapter briefly detailing what kinds of changes have been made (ex: grammar, syntax, spelling, dialogue, plot additions, etc...) so that you can decide whether or not you want to re-read that particular chapter. If I've done anything important like a slight plot advancement that wasn't in the old version, I'll recommend that you read the chapter. Pretty much any chapter with dialogue changes and more will have effected the plot in some way, so I recommend right now that you read those regardless.

Hopefully this is an acceptable system and won't be too irritating to new readers.

**New readers: **There is an old version of this story up on my author profile, which, if you're desperate enough, you can read at your leisure. I recommend, however, waiting for this story rather than 'reading ahead' as this newer version will have a) better writing, b) additional chapters/scenes that the old version will not have and c) have a large change in plot somewhere around chapter...hrm...not sure yet...14? 13?

**To old and new readers:** The chapters will come pretty quick as most of the material is already written and I'm merely editing them/adding to them, so my usual wait time of weeks/months will probably be narrowed down to days/weeks instead until I catch up with the amount of chapters in the old one (19?) after which I have the next chapter prepared. I've had a lot of messages from old readers asking me to post the next chapter on the old fic anyway while I'm busy with the re-write...but what's unfortunate is that when I suddenly decided to change the plot, it was while writing chapter 20 and so that new chapter already has elements of the new plot/timeline (I've changed some dates around) and it would be all around confusing to post that chapter as it doesn't quite mesh with the old version and people would be asking what's going on.

I hope that has answered any and all questions. Additional questions may be directed to me either via signed review or PM and I'll get back to you asap and/or in a general AN in one of the chapters. Any questions about the new plot/changes and spoilers will be dutifully ignored...so don't even bother trying to find out! Shh, it's a secret!

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_Ex Sanguis Version 2.0 chapter changes: minor internal dialogue editing, grammar, spelling, syntax changes_

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**Chapter 1: Summer**

Harry sat silently in the back of his uncle's car on the way home from his fifth year at Hogwarts. It was a very terse silence that permeated the atmosphere. His Aunt Petunia sat stiffly in the passenger seat in front of him while Uncle Vernon gripped the wheel a little too tightly as he drove.

So far only a few words had been exchanged since meeting up at the train station, but Vernon's beet red neck spoke for itself. He had snapped a few orders at Harry to get his things into the car so they could leave and then had proceeded to fume, working himself into a right state. Harry wasn't overly worried by this behaviour, because it was quite natural for his relatives, despite the circumstances being graver than usual. He was only glad Dudley had opted to stay at home or the car might not be so silent.

Harry much preferred the silence to his uncle's ranting or his cousin's piggy-eyed glares of promised pain.

The countryside sped by as Uncle Vernon finally turned off the M25 and onto the freer motorways.

His uncle drove like a maniac. He eyed the speedometer and estimated they were going about 90mph. However, he decided against pointing this out to either of his relatives and simply gripped the seat belt tightly. It was hardly as fast as he sometimes flew on his broom, but at least then he had had the reassurance of being in control himself. He supposed, if they crashed at these speeds, death would be pretty much instantaneous.

He wondered if Sirius's death had been like that. His face had shown a brief moment of surprise and then he had slipped behind the veil. Had he had time to think? Realise what had happened? That he was dying - or even dead?

With a carefully hidden sigh, Harry closed his eyes against the yellow glare of the evening sun and reeled his mind back in. It would not do to let his mind wander. Having an anguished sob in front of his uncaring relatives would garner no sympathy.

It was an hour's drive to Surrey from London, but with his Uncle's driving it only took them 45 minutes. When the car finally swung into the driveway of Number 4 Privet Drive, the first thing Harry's relatives did was leave him alone in the car as if he didn't exist.

Shrugging, Harry exited the car and opened the driver's door to pop the boot. He grabbed his trunk and Hedwig's owl cage (fortunately not with Hedwig still in it, he'd sent her on ahead earlier) and proceeded to heave them up to the front door. The trunk seemed heavier this year, though Harry supposed it was the lack of weightless charms and the addition of books collected during his fifth year.

He made it to the door and was relieved to find it wasn't locked. His relatives liked to pretend he wasn't real, sometimes taking that delusion too far. Grunting, Harry pushed the door open with his shoulder and dragged his trunk inside.

Dudley was waiting for him on the stairs, a bowl of ice cream in one hand and a coca cola in the other. Harry didn't return the sneer sent his way and instead pushed his things up against the wall and went into the kitchen. Hopefully, Dudley would get bored of blocking the way upstairs and he would move.

As it turned out, Harry didn't have to wait that long. No sooner had he entered the kitchen than Uncle Vernon began proclaiming loudly to his wife that he and 'Dudders' would be going out to visit the gym before dinner. Apparently, Dudley was still boxing and he and Vernon were exclusive members of a health club that would allow Dudley to build up muscle for his fights. Harry couldn't have possibly thought of a more fitting sport for his large whale of a cousin. The boy was a bully to the core.

Dudley was forced to abandon his ice cream and soda and thump up the stairs to get his things. Harry waited in the shadows for Dudley to come back down before he started trying to haul his belongings up the narrow staircase. He was half way up and panting heavily by the time he heard the car drive away.

Now it was just him and Aunt Petunia, and Harry was quite grateful. With any luck, Uncle Vernon and Dudley would go out to the gym often during the summer hols and leave Harry some room to breathe - and time to grieve.

"Stop thumping that thing, boy!" Aunt Petunia suddenly screeched from behind him, making Harry jump. He certainly hadn't heard her come out of the kitchen. He craned his head around and spotted her by the base of the stairs, glaring up at him angrily with her cooking apron on and a wooden spoon in one hand.

"Sorry, Aunt Petunia," said Harry, who was not really very sorry at all.

Aunt Petunia harrumphed and stalked back into her domain. With a sigh, Harry finished pulling his trunk up the stairs and quickly went back for Hedwig's cage. Gripping it tightly under his arm, he bounded up the stairs, and was safely tucked away in his room in record time.

Sitting on his bed, Harry contemplated opening his trunk and getting his books out, but decided against it after thinking of the huge essay Snape had assigned them for Potions. He already had his wand, and he never unpacked (who knew when he would need to make a quick escape?), so he left the trunk as it was and flopped down with his head on his pillow. Then, Harry felt his stomach growl and he sighed again. He was going to have to get used to the meagre scraps off of Petunia's table again.

It turned out that crisps, an apple, and a piece of bread were to be Harry's only dinner that night, so he went to bed with a rather empty stomach and dearly wishing he'd saved some chocolate frogs in his trunk. Fortunately, Harry's internal alarm clock managed to wake him early enough that he was able to nick a decent breakfast and be back in his room before the Dursleys even began to stir. Harry had very good survival instincts - they were well honed from years of practise.

Two more days passed in this manner before Harry decided to vary his schedule a bit. Instead of appearing in front of his uncle only to be ordered to get to work doing something or other in the garden, Harry stayed shut in his room and broke out his textbooks.

_Hermione would be so proud_, he couldn't help but think as he started on his gruelling Potions essay first.

But Harry soon grew bored of looking up ingredient reactions and thinking intellectually and so switched to something less stressful like his Care of Magical Creatures summer homework. Bless Hagrid for being such an easy grader. Indeed, Harry was quite fond of his larger friend.

Harry managed to sneak more food than he was given for dinner that evening and was feeling inordinately pleased with himself when he went to bed that night. He'd even managed to spot his guard out the window as well and waved. A disembodied hand had waved back.

So Harry went to sleep that night, not knowing that he, and the rest of the Dursleys, would be woken the next morning at just past dawn by a commotion in the living room.

Vernon was the first up, although Harry had found himself awake and listening sleepily to the sounds of hushed voices and a bit of banging coming from downstairs. In fact, it took quite some time for the sounds to register in Harry's mind as being part of reality and not some strange dream he was having. It was this thought that had him grasping for his wand in one hand and slowly drawing back the covers with the other.

He had just hidden himself behind his door when a harsh whisper came through the keyhole.

"Boy!" hissed the voice.

Harry jumped and almost let loose a curse until he realised that it was only his Uncle Vernon.

"What?" he hissed back.

"Go check downstairs! Someone's broken in! It might be _your_ lot," Vernon Dursley ordered his nephew, his own well-being obviously foremost in his mind.

Harry really shouldn't have been surprised at the utter selfishness and self-preservation that his uncle was currently displaying, but he still found himself wordlessly working his mouth up and down.

"No way!" he finally managed.

"Now, boy!" Vernon's voice was louder this time and the voices floating up the stairs paused momentarily.

In the end, Harry concluded that he was the only one in the household actually capable of defending himself, so really, it ought to be him that ventured downstairs to see what the problem was. Of course, that didn't mean he had to like the situation.

Glaring heavily at his uncle, who was peering at him (along with Petunia and Dudley) from the safety of Dudley's room, Harry cautiously poked his head around the corner of the stairwell and gazed about. He didn't see anyone, but he could hear shuffling from the direction of the living room. Taking a deep breath, and trying not to think about how thoroughly _stupid _he was being, he started creeping down the stairs.

Fortunately, in Harry's many years of honing his survival instincts, he'd also learnt all the ins and outs of the Dursley household staircase. This of course included knowing precisely where to place his feet in order to prevent squeaking. Stealthily, Harry crept down the stairs and reached the bottom without a single sound.

By now, Harry had determined that the voices were most definitely coming from the living room. He stilled and tried to work out some of the frantic whispering. It didn't take him long to realise that the intruders were speaking in a different language. It was a beautiful language, full of soft sounds, strange trills and lilted voices. Harry could have stood there and listened to it all day, but another thump and what might have been a curse managed to draw his attention back to the matter at hand.

Now, he had quickly come to the conclusion that the intruders were neither Death Eaters nor Order members, which didn't leave many options. If he took into account the strange language these people were speaking then that left virtually no options at all. Harry was stumped. Either way, he wasn't going to find out standing hidden behind the wall. Telling his thumping heart to calm down, he slowly poked his head around the wall...

And almost gasped out loud.

There were two, well, Harry didn't think it was fair to call them people, because they weren't - they were _beings_ - standing in the living room. Or rather, they were exploring the living room, rather akin to a curious child.

Harry couldn't tear his eyes away; they were unlike anything he had ever seen before. He could tell they weren't human. They were humanoid, but only to a point.

He studied them in more detail, trying to figure out what they were. He didn't think he'd learned about them in Care of Magical Creatures, Defence or History of Magic. For a brief, silly moment he thought they might be aliens. He peered closer still, eyes narrowed.

They had their backs turned to him, but from their backs alone he could see they were well muscled. Thin and sleek, but strong nevertheless. And tall - but hardly gangly. The strange leather garments they wore in the way of armour were very fitted, and the type of cloth that made up the rest of their clothes seemed to have a life of its own.

The strangest thing though, was the way their skin shone. At first he thought it was a trick of the light, but after closer observation, he realised their skin was actually emitting a strange kind of luminescence. It was uncanny - but strangely beautiful.

Suddenly, one turned its head, and Harry froze, ready to duck out of sight. Fortunately, it didn't look over its shoulder and he was saved. But what caught his attention before the being turned back to its partner, were the long, slender ears. They must have been several inches longer than human ears and tapered to a point. When he let out a slightly heavy breath, one of the visible ears twitched. Harry figured he had overstayed his welcome. If he wasn't careful, he would be discovered - who knew, maybe they had already heard him; those ears had to be good for something after all.

More of the sun's rays crept through the partially open blinds, and Harry felt that now would be an opportune moment to retreat back upstairs and inform the Dursleys of his findings. He had the feeling that Vernon was going to be none too happy at the blatantly magical beings in his 'perfectly normal' living room. He would take quite a lot of pleasure in informing his relatives and watching their reactions. Maybe Vernon's face would take on that fascinating days-old-porridge colour that it sometimes turned. Or Dudley might run and hide his bottom again. Harry still had such fond memories of that incident.

Thinking these happy thoughts, the wizard snuck quietly back up the stairs and searched for his 'family'. He found them huddled in his aunt and uncle's room.

As soon as he closed the door quietly behind him, Uncle Vernon practically pounced on him. Beady eyes staring feverishly into Harry's own, Vernon demanded to know what was happening and if they should call the police.

"Oh I wouldn't do that, it might cause a commotion," Harry told him with relish. He waited a second or two for the implications to sink in. When they did, he was not disappointed. Vernon's face turned a lovely shade of mauve-ish purple.

"Then it's _your_ lot!" his uncle practically spat.

"Nope!" said Harry cheerfully.

Vernon blinked at this and Harry heard Dudley whimper.

"If it's not _your_ lot, then who is it?" The man demanded.

"Well," began Harry, feeling disappointed that his uncle had mastered his shock so quickly, "I'm not sure really."

"Are they robbers?"

"No, at least, I don't think so."

"Murderers?"

"Pretty sure, no."

"Blazes, boy! Are they the neighbours come round for _tea_! Who _is it_?"

Harry stopped playing games with his uncle, afraid the man might keel over dead from exertion.

"Okay, I really don't know, but I can describe them to you," he began.

"Describe?" Petunia asked from the bed.

Harry nodded at his aunt and thought about how best to describe other-worldly creatures to his magic-fearing muggle relatives.

"They're tall," he began again, only to be cut off by Vernon.

"TALL?"

"Shhh, Vernon, not so loud!" Petunia hushed her husband frantically, flapping her hands about like a twittery bird.

"Right," Harry continued, "they're tall. They're also wearing weird floaty clothes which look pretty elaborate and speaking some weird whispery language too." At the words 'weird whispery language' Aunt Petunia made a funny choking noise in the back of her throat. Harry hoped she wasn't asphyxiating. "Mm, definitely not a language I've ever heard before. Anyway, they're all kind of glowy with funny ears," Aunt Petunia made another odd choking noise. Vernon quickly became concerned and patted her heavily on the back. "Oh, yeah," said Harry, deciding to make matters just that bit worse, "kind of reminded me of elves. Like from the movies."

Aunt Petunia fainted.

Uncle Vernon let out a strangled yelp and Dudley squeaked out a horrified, "Mum!"

This was shaping up to be a lively summer, Harry thought, as his uncle and cousin frantically tried to fan Petunia back into the land of the living. He stood quietly by the door, keeping one ear on what was going on downstairs (or more importantly, whether what was going on downstairs was moving _upstairs_) and the other on Vernon's frantic callings of, "Pet! Come on, Pet, wake up!"

Finally. Aunt Petunia stirred and moaned. She sat up with the aid of her husband and put a trembling hand to her forehead.

"What happened?" She asked, clearly confused.

"I was telling you about the 'elves' downstairs and you fainted," Harry told her helpfully.

Aunt Petunia turned that odd shade of days-old-porridge.

"Pet?" Vernon asked anxiously.

"This is a dream right?" whispered Petunia hoarsely.

"No, I already checked." Harry pinched himself again just in case.

"Th-this shouldn't be happening. It's not true, tell me it's not true!" Aunt Petunia was hysterical. Harry began to suspect that perhaps his Aunt knew more about their situation than she let on.

"Care to enlighten us?" he asked, subtly informing her that he knew she knew something.

Petunia's eyes met Harry's and suddenly he knew with certainty that his Aunt really did know.

"I..." she tried.

They waited in silence, both Dudley and Vernon having caught on as well.

"I...I don't...I can't...It's..." Petunia's voice trailed off, mouth working helplessly.

"It's okay, Aunt Petunia," Harry soothed, feeling a little guilty about his aunt's state. But apparently not guilty enough, because he added next, "Shall I go tell them you'll be down to speak with them in a few? It'll give you time to compose yourself."

Harry made as if to leave the room, but Petunia's muffled shriek stopped him. He looked back over his shoulder as she scrambled from the bed and raced to the door where she physically blocked him from going further.

"Pet..."

"No, Vernon. I-I need to speak with them alone." Petunia was slowly regaining her colour, though she still looked frightfully pale.

"But...those..._creatures_...could be dangerous," her husband protested.

"Don't go, Mum," whimpered Dudley.

Aunt Petunia shook her head 'no'.

"I'm sorry, I must." She seemed to draw herself up, suddenly appearing taller and far more self-assured than she usually did. Harry was impressed. Who knew his aunt could command such an air about her?

"Stay here," she instructed, then pulled open the door and left.

Harry, Dudley and Uncle Vernon were left staring at the door. They exchanged looks, for once not hateful, and then all simultaneously offered to go follow Petunia and spy on her.

"It has to be me," Harry insisted.

"Why _you_?" Dudley sneered.

"_Because,_ Dudders," Harry eyed his cousin's heavy bulk, "you would set off every creak and crack in the house. They'd know you were there in a heartbeat."

"Then I'll go!" Uncle Vernon exclaimed.

"Uncle," Harry said exasperatedly, "same goes for you. I'm the only one that can sneak around in this house. So I should go."

"Absolutely not," argued Vernon.

"I still think it should be me, I can too be quiet!" Dudley whined.

Harry rubbed his temples.

"Do you _want_ them to know you're listening?" He finally asked after man and son had exchanged a few more lines.

There was a simultaneous "No!"

"Then let _me_ go," Harry cried, his curiosity now burning passionately.

"Fine!" Uncle Vernon snapped, "We'll _all_ go!"

Harry rolled his eyes. There was no way Petunia and their..._guests_ weren't going to know they were there.

"Then we might as well not sneak and just walk in," he decided.

Silence. Then, "Fine."

All three males headed for the door and had a brief scuffle as to who would go first (Harry won), and they finally exited single file, Vernon in the back. As Harry padded down the hall and Dudley waddled (while Vernon thumped) after him, Harry likened the situation to a mother duck with her ducklings. Then the thought made him go green, so he frantically banished it from his mind and headed down the stairs, not bothering to be quiet.

_Squeak. Creak. Groan_. The stairs protested having not only Harry, but also Dudley and Vernon all crowded onto them at the same time. Any voices that had been talking in the living room fell quiet. There was a shuffling and then Petunia appeared at the foot of the stairs looking angry. Harry froze like a deer caught in headlights and Dudley almost knocked him down when he bumped into his back.

"I told you to _stay_," she hissed, face pinched.

"But, Pet..." whined Vernon.

Petunia glared.

Harry licked his lips, said, "Curiosity killed the cat," and shrugged apologetically.

"Go," ordered his aunt.

However, before she could brow-beat them into returning to the bedroom, the two beings from earlier came out to investigate the noises. Harry's breath caught at being faced directly with the beautiful, but alien, creatures. Dudley squeaked and Vernon choked.

The beings' strange cat-like eyes flicked from one person to another before finally coming to rest on Harry. They stared at him in what, if Harry didn't know any better, could almost be described as awe. It didn't make sense, so he dismissed the thought as absurd.

Suddenly, one of the beings spoke a word. It sounded like a single word, faintly whispered in breathy tones, but it was enough to make Aunt Petunia pale and shriek, "NO!"

She whirled around and tried to herd the elfin beings back into the living room, but they evaded her grasp and came right up to the bottom step of the staircase. They were close enough to touch.

And then one did.

The being reached out with a light hand and grasped Harry's chin. Or, he held his hand out as if grasping Harry's chin and some invisible force did it for him. Harry froze and stared straight into the creepy, glowing eyes of the elf-like being. All of a sudden, it smiled, showing straight, white teeth with surprisingly sharp eye-teeth. He spoke the same word as before and abruptly let go of Harry's face, making a strange gesture with the hand instead. Then, Petunia interposed herself and forced the being to step away. She stood in front of Harry and tried to push him back up the stairs. Even if Harry had wanted to move (which he didn't, he was fascinated), he couldn't have because Dudley was still standing directly behind him and wasn't budging. Rather, he was unusually quiet and still and Harry suspected he'd gone into shock.

Petunia was trying to argue with the being. The elfin male was adamantly repeating the word Harry had heard earlier over and over again interspersed with others in what were clearly several sentences. Harry had to wonder how his Aunt Petunia knew what the being was saying. He eyed her suspiciously.

"No, no no!" She was still fending off further attempts to touch him again, but the beings were getting steadily more stubborn, and, it seemed, almost angry. Finally, the second being snapped something harsh sounding and Petunia stopped moving. Her shoulders slumped as she wilted in defeat. The being (this one was female) snapped off a few more phrases and Petunia moaned and put her head in her hands.

Harry was starting to feel somewhat alarmed. This situation was getting stranger and stranger by the second and it was beginning to lose its marvel. Not to mention, where was the Order? Shouldn't they have noticed these beings and be in here interrogating them by now?

Harry looked around, but he saw only his aunt and the two elfin creatures. No Order.

Petunia finally began to respond to the beings' words, her English surprisingly grating in comparison to the previous language.

"Fine. _Fine,_" she was saying, "but I come too, do you hear me?"

The being said a few things. He obviously understood English.

"No I don't _want_ to you fool!" Aunt Petunia snapped.

A few more unintelligible syllables.

"Just because! I made a promise to that stupid old fool of a Headmaster, so I _will_ be coming."

Harry immediately became interested. What promise? His aunt had made a promise to Dumbledore?

The being frowned and shook its head slightly. He said something else.

"Don't you give me that!" Aunt Petunia snapped harshly. "Either we both come or no one comes! I'll call the wizards down on you if I have to."

The two beings exchanged glances, before the one who had spoken previously nodded jerkily.

Aunt Petunia smiled in triumph. "Give me a moment. I'll have him collect his belongings."

Wait, what? Harry jerked as Petunia turned around to face him and glared at him.

"Go fetch your belongings, boy!" She snapped, still very, very upset.

"Wait a minute, Petunia!" Vernon finally found his voice again.

"Don't argue with me, Vernon, this has to be done, or neither you nor I will like the consequences." Petunia's voice was stony. Harry felt he was viewing a whole new side to his aunt that he'd never seen before.

Vernon stopped his blustering at his wife's words and quieted down, most likely remembering all the other unfortunate encounters he'd had with anything magical - Harry included.

"Come along, Dudders," the beefy man finally muttered grudgingly.

Dudley seemed to come back to himself and made a few garbled noises before following his father back up the stairs. They both disappeared and a door slammed shut with a bang.

"Don't just stand there," Harry's aunt snapped again, "get a move on!"

Hesitantly, wondering if it was really a good idea to listen to his aunt right now, Harry stepped back up the stairs. Still thinking furiously, he gathered his belongings, most of which were still packed in his trunk, and briefly debated whether or not to bring Hedwig's cage. However, since Hedwig was with Ron at the moment and wasn't likely to come unless she had a letter, Harry decided to leave it. Worrying his lip between his teeth in anxious thought, he dragged his trunk out of his room and only got about as far as the stairs before he was stopped. Both the beings had stopped him, smiled, and were now directing Harry's floating trunk down the stairs for him.

"From the living room then." Aunt Petunia had changed into something a little nicer than her pyjamas. Harry belatedly realised he was still wearing his. Oh well.

He followed her into the living room where the two beings were standing next to Harry's trunk in the middle of a large circle. Harry stared at the circle. Where had that come from?

The circle was made out of a strange mixed powder that had been sprinkled in an unbroken ring. He watched as Aunt Petunia stepped into it without breaking the line and followed her example, still wondering if he should be doing this.

_It's okay, Harry,_ he told himself, _Aunt Petunia wouldn't do anything like this if it was going to harm her, so I'm safe._

Then, the beings began to chant.

The circle glowed and a barrier shot up from the floor, encircling them all within a pulsating shield. There was a frantic thumping from upstairs as both Vernon and Dudley stomped down the stairs. The last thing that Harry saw before his vision was overcome with white, was the gormless, gaping expressions of his uncle and cousin as they stared at the circle of light from the living room door.

Then it was white and Harry was weightless.

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_I would love to hear your thoughts about the new and improved ES, as I'm rather anxious to know if it has, in fact, improved at all! Well, later chapters will show more evidence of this...so the more I post the more you'll hopefully see the difference. The first ES started off as a mock-parody of all those Harry-is-whisked-off-to-the-land-of-the-elves stories out there (among other parodies) which turned quite serious after a few chapters, so I'm hoping the newer, more thought out version will show more of this seriousness instead of my previous on-the-fly writing. _

_Also...was anyone else aware that now spaces your paragraphs for you even if you don't do so on the original ? Weird!_

_**On a side note: Reviews:** I discovered a fair amount of my readers are not native English speakers, therefore if the reason you don't review is due to a language barrier of some kind then anyone who also speaks French, Japanese or German, please feel free to review in those languages instead, as I can read, write and speak both French and Japanese and have a passable knowledge of German. I will also most likely be able to muddle through most Spanish, Italian and Portuguese with a bit of help from native speakers, so go ahead and review in those languages as well (I'll just rope one of my friends into helping out!). Rest assured I read every single one and will not let a foreign language prevent me from doing so.  
_

_Edited: 26/01/11_


	2. Elwyn

_Ex Sanguis Version 2.0 chapter changes: grammar, spelling, syntax, descriptive elements_

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**Chapter 2: Elwýn**

When Harry came to, he was standing (swaying groggily) in a polished, marble-like chamber with an incredibly high vaulted ceiling. He blinked spots from his vision and stared around him in awe. The chamber was large, with softly glowing crystal lighting fixtures and large windows with thin panes of crystal glass. The windows were arched, and many in number. The soft, pale colours of the marble and the rainbow light refracted through the glass lit up the room with a heavenly luminescence. The effect was otherworldly.

The two beings stepped in front of Harry and his aunt - who hovered at his shoulder anxiously, hands twitching - and seemed to smile at Harry, gesturing to the chamber. Harry smiled hesitantly back, still nervous and uncertain. The male being spoke a few warm words, then they turned around and started walking.

"Come on," Aunt Petunia said sourly, "and stay close, keep your head down, and for goodness sakes don't _say_ anything."

Harry made as if to follow his aunt before remembering his trunk and turned to go back for it.

"Leave it!" she snapped at him.

Harry hastily followed her out of the chamber's only arch that wasn't a window, glancing mournfully over his shoulder at the lone trunk sitting in the middle of the floor. Looking at it now, Harry realised there was a large circular pattern inlaid in the floor and wondered if it had anything to do with the transporting circle they'd been in before.

Regardless, he had his wand with him, and that was all he really needed for the moment.

The beings were quite a ways ahead and didn't bother to stop and wait for them to catch up, so Aunt Petunia was able to whisper frantically in Harry's ear. He began to grow more and more alarmed at every word she spoke and started to regret not putting up a fight over coming.

"When we get to the throne room, do exactly as I do and _do not speak_, are we clear?" Petunia was hissing.

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Throne room? Oh dear.

"I am going to try and get us out of this situation as best as I can, but be prepared for a long stay," she continued.

Harry asked what on earth was she talking about?

"I mean, if you hadn't taken it into your fool head to come downstairs they might have come and gone without being any the wiser that you were alive!" Petunia snapped.

"But why would they care about me?" Harry whispered anxiously.

Petunia was silent, not answering, and Harry took the opportunity to look around at where they were going. They were in a corridor that looked very similar to the room they'd just been in, decorated by large arching windows filled with rainbow sunlight and crystal fixtures with softly glowing balls of light that left no shadows in their wake. Harry tried looking out the windows, but they appeared to be high up and so all he saw were clouds and the tips of a few shining spiralling tower-like structures.

"Just leave the talking to me," Harry's aunt finally responded. "There might be hope left yet."

"Whatever's going on, it doesn't seem too bad," Harry told her.

Petunia's face twisted in a scowl and she muttered, "You have no idea."

A few moments later. "Whatever you do, don't be defiant, as I know you are prone to being."

"Hey!" exclaimed Harry indignantly. Petunia shot him a look as if to say, 'see?'

Harry flushed and mumbled, "All right, I'll try to be good."

"You won't _try_," Aunt Petunia stressed, "you _will_. Because if you don't, you may never leave this place again. I spent half my life trying to get out and so did your mother, so don't make all our hard work go to waste."

Harry gaped. "Wh-what?" he spluttered.

But his Aunt Petunia didn't say anything else and marched on silently, like a solder headed for battle. Harry was left wondering what on earth his aunt had meant by that last statement and what was _really_ going on. How could she say something like that and then leave him hanging? It was cruel - or maybe payback. Who knew?

So, he tried his best not to think of the implications of what his aunt _might_ have meant.

Eventually they passed out of the corridor and took a couple of wide spiral stairs downwards. Everywhere they went there were large windows and lots of soft, rainbow light. Harry found it more relaxing than intimidating, despite the obvious craftmanship and wealth that had gone into building this magnificent palace.

They began to see more arches and the occasional door lining the corridors which led off into more sun lit rooms Signs of more personal interior designing began to pop up. Harry goggled at several beautifully depicted wall murals, floor mosaics, delicate sculptures - sometimes crystal, sometimes stone - and even living plants that looked too well arranged and grown to be natural.

Then more of the elfin-like beings began to appear.

They passed the first one in a corridor and she stopped walking and gaped at the two humans as they passed. Then more began to emerge in archways and doorways, staring and whispering, and Harry felt like he was on display in a zoo.

Here's Harry Potter, wizard, Exhibit A.

He also desperately wished he'd changed out of his ratty pyjamas before coming, because he felt woefully undressed, awkward, and ugly in his old, faded, too-large t-shirt and flannel pants. He felt his face flush as they walked and tried to hide it by ducking his head. He felt in his pants pocket for his wand for reassurance.

At some point Harry glanced up at his Aunt Petunia to gauge her reaction to all the attention and their surroundings, and somehow he wasn't surprised to see her walking confidently with a mild look of distaste on her face, as if this were a normal occurrence. He wanted desperately to ask his aunt who these beings were and why they were staring, but he didn't dare speak out loud because he'd surely be heard. Perhaps they already had - who knew if the two elvin beings had been eavesdropping?

Harry didn't know how long they walked, but eventually they halted in front of two rather grand and impressive doors. They were made out of some sort of pale, whitish wood with carved images that glinted with a multitude of metal or - gold, silver, bronze, copper. Harry raised his head high enough to admire them, ignoring the glowing eyes staring at him from around the edges of the chamber they were in.

Their two guides turned around and spoke to Aunt Petunia about something after which Aunt Petunia turned around and told Harry in no uncertain terms to follow her lead and do _exactly as instructed_, or else. He decided she wasn't exaggerating, so decided not to press his luck. Aunt Petunia could be very scary sometimes. He nodded his head and Petunia seemed satisfied. She turned back around and snapped at the two beings to, "Get on with it!"

Harry craned his neck around his aunt to get a better look when the door swung silently open. The first thing he caught sight of was the couple sitting on the thrones in the centre of the long room, and all else faded into the background, including Aunt Petunia's warnings to keep his head down and be inconspicuous.

They were the most beautiful beings Harry had ever seen, even the male. The female had a face shaped so finely, it looked to be made of porcelain. It was painted sparsely with something that sparkled, but what caught Harry's attention was the light reflecting off the metal ornaments on her cheekbones and forehead, leading up into her mass of reddish-bronze curls. He was really too far away to see all the intricacies of her hair, but there must have been so many different weaves of crystal and gem-like orbs and metal twinning, that it had probably taken _days_ to get it right. She glittered like a giant diamond.

Her clothes on the other hand were more than exotic. Different shades of green and bronze and silver decorated her corset, which seemed so finely made that it would shatter into a million pieces at any second. Her skirt was a transparent filmy green which Harry _swore_ had a life of its own, because it kept moving even though the woman didn't move a muscle - she was like a statue. Fortunately for Harry's virgin eyes, she was wearing an opaque pantaloon underneath the dress which fell in shimmering copper folds around her legs. On her feet were woven metal sandals which glinted in the light.

Harry had, by now, picked up the crucial theme of light throughout the castle and its inhabitants, as well as their penchant for fine metals and crystals.

Petunia was moving forward and it obscured Harry's view slightly, which broke the spell. He blinked and straightened just in time to catch his aunt's angry glare. He quickly jerked into compliance, trotting at the heels of the irritable woman.

As he walked closer and closer, he turned his attention to what could only be the king. While he was also beautiful, he held a certain masculinity that was hard to mistake. A broader chest and shoulders and a much firmer jaw for starters. He wasn't decorated in metal, but had an elegant circlet on his brow which threaded through his blond hair. He was dressed similarly to their escorts, but in much more elaborate cloth.

Then, he was broken out of his observations when Petunia sank to the floor in an imitation of a deep curtsy. Remembering what he had been told, but pretty sure that his aunt didn't mean for him to _curtsy_, Harry dropped to one knee and bowed his head, imitating the two scouts who had lowered a second before him. Then, he almost made the grave mistake of raising his head, but managed to note out of the corner of his eye that no one else had moved. He stayed perfectly still.

Harry didn't know how long they remained like that, but it was long enough for sweat to start beading at his neck and wet the collar of his shirt. His legs were just about to cramp when the female (the queen, Harry could only assume) spoke a few words. His muscles tensed, but he didn't move, waiting to see if everyone else moved first.

Harry's judgement had been sound. No one had moved.

The king now said something and there was a muffled reply from the two escorts.

Harry kept waiting, and as he waited, he thought. He thought about how so much had happened in only a few hours, and he wondered why he wasn't more startled or scared. He supposed everything was happening far too quickly to sink in properly. He also contemplated the strange way his aunt was acting and what it could mean. His mind came up with wild idea after wild idea, and they were all dismissed as being absurd...but even so, Harry couldn't help but shudder at the implications of some of them - if they, by some slim chance, were actually true…

The king and the escorts continued to exchange words, and in order to clear his mind, Harry focused on their speech.

The language really _was_ beautiful...but there was something about it that had Harry's hackles raised by now. Something strange. He couldn't quite work out what it was, but it made him uneasy. It was like déjà vu, and it made his skin prickle.

Suddenly, the silence that Harry hadn't even noticed was cut by the queen's sharp words.

"_Taswafáne-aránelle._"

Aunt Petunia's head jerked up and Harry gave a start at the sudden movement.

The queen spoke again and Petunia tensed visibly. After another lengthy monologue on the part of the queen, Harry's aunt was clearly angry and distressed. Still, she managed to look cold and scornful, even from her bowed position.

"I'm happier than I ever was here," she finally spoke into a heavy silence, and Harry had to wonder just what on earth they were talking about. He felt like he should know, he really did. After all, Aunt Petunia knew!

But...how? That was the strangest thing - the thing he just couldn't wrap his head around.

The queen sounded angry when she finally replied.

"My apologies," Petunia said stiffly. "I have been like this for more than two decades, it is too difficult."

Been like what? Harry wondered.

"It cannot form the proper sounds," she said again in response to something else.

The king interrupted this time, dismissing the two guides. They rose and walked out silently. Harry debated rising as well, but Petunia hadn't told him to yet or made any gestures, so he kept still, his legs now really cramping. He reminded himself sternly it was nothing compared to the Cruciatus.

When the guides had left the room and shut the door behind them, Petunia finally rose. Harry glanced at his aunt out of the corner of his eye and noticed she was making little rising motions with her fingers. He rose stiffly, but didn't look up enough to stare either monarch in the eye. He didn't think that was a good idea.

There was perhaps a minute of silence before Petunia finally asked, "So who told you to come searching?"

The queen leaned forward eagerly, gesturing at Harry, and said something excitedly. Petunia didn't respond to this so the queen tried again.

"Harry, lift your head," Aunt Petunia ordered quietly and with a hint of regret.

Harry dutifully raised his head so his face was no longer shielded by the shadow of his hair. The queen was staring right at him and when his eyes met hers, she smiled.

Harry couldn't repress the shiver. There was something about that smile that reminded him of a satisfied cat - that cat that caught the canary. Harry felt like that canary.

"_Indilaira_," she breathed out.

Petunia jerked. So did Harry. Something about that word struck a chord deep within him. But the worst part was that it shouldn't have. He sucked in a deep breath.

The king leaned over and whispered something to his wife and the queen nodded. She turned and gestured to Petunia, clearly a dismissal. Aunt Petunia clenched her jaw and shook her head.

"No, not yet. At least let me explain some things to him. He doesn't speak a word of _Elwýnllambe, _he'll be completely lost." Petunia's voice was pleading.

Harry nodded uncertainly. He never would have imagined an instance in which he wanted his Aunt's company, but he found himself desperately wishing she wouldn't abandon him here.

The king and queen debated over the request for a moment before they agreed - if the relieved sagging of Petunia's shoulders and her, "Thank you, _Tar'__Allàwhta_ and _Tar'Thalyón_" was anything to go by.

"Come along, Harry," said Aunt Petunia to him. She reached out and gripped his wrist loosely, pulling him along behind her and leaving the king and queen on their thrones. "I'm to take you to your room, and while we walk I need to explain a few things to you."

They passed through the doors quickly enough and right into a crowd of curious onlookers. Petunia threaded her way through them, ignoring their excited jabbering and acute fear of being touched by both her and Harry. He found this a little strange, but useful, as they scattered in his aunt's wake, leaving a wide path for them to walk through.

He glanced at her expression, searching for the murderous look that was surely plastered across her face.

None. Strange. She didn't seem at all phased!

Once they were in less crowded halls, Harry disengaged his wrist and asked a question that had been burning on the tip of his tongue ever since they'd left the throne room (mind, there were _so many_ questions that this one was only the tip of the iceberg).

"What's Indillayrah?"

Petunia's lips thinned.

Harry tried again. "Please? I-I don't know why, but it's familiar. I think I've heard it before."

She still didn't say anything, but her expression grew more pinched.

They started heading upward, taking stairs and climbing what could only be towers.

"Aunt Petunia! You said you'd explain!"

Petunia stopped walking for a moment and turned on Harry with an unreadable expression on her face.

"I know," she whispered, "but I don't want to. I've been running from this for twenty years, and I'd all but put it behind me and...and now _this_!" She waved her hands around, gesturing at the splendour around her as if it was causing her very existence to crumble.

Harry was silent after this, not knowing if there anything he could say to offer comfort, or even if he should say anything at all. Aunt Petunia began walking again and silence persisted until they arrived at a guarded door.

As soon as they appeared to be heading towards yet another ornately decorated door, the guards stood to attention and crossed their long spears to block the way. When Aunt Petunia walked right up to them, one of the guards said something, to which Aunt Petunia responded with a few words that Harry recognised. They were the words that the queen had spoken to his aunt when she was first addressed - _Taswafáne-aránelle_.

These seemed to be the magic words because the guards' eyes widened and they immediately lowered their spears, staring at Aunt Petunia in wonder.

The guard on the left repeated the words in a question, to which Aunt Petunia nodded 'yes'. Both guards stared some more.

"Well?" Petunia finally snapped impatiently. The guards quickly pulled open the doors, looking embarrassed. They watched Harry curiously as he passed through, following his aunt. He felt their gaze on his back before the doors closed with a soft thud. Somehow that thud seemed prophetic to Harry; kind of like a key turning in the lock of a cage - in this case to keep something in, trapped.

"We're safe to talk," Aunt Petunia broke the silence and his philosophical musings. Harry quickly caught up to her and watched her eagerly, waiting for her to speak and explain what was going on.

"I suppose I should start off with where we are, shouldn't I?" she asked rhetorically. "We're in the kingdom of _Elwýn, _home to the _Elwý, _or what you would otherwise call 'elves,' I suppose. That is the closest definition I can think of."

"Elves?" Harry gasped, though really he wasn't all that surprised. That had been his own guess, after all. "You don't mean like house elves do you?"

He pictured Dobby in his head in all his tea-towel glory and decided that had been a stupid question.

Petunia stared at him blankly.

Harry clarified. "Um, small, elf-like creatures with big ears and large eyes who are bonded to wizards as slaves-"

"Absolutely not!" Aunt Petunia interrupted with a screech, clearly aghast. "Don't ever, and I mean _ever_, insinuate such a thing again, especially not in front of the _Elwý _or you won't like the consequences."

"Sorry, sorry!" Harry said quickly, holding up his hands in a gesture of peace.

Aunt Petunia snorted. She stomped her way up a set of wide spiral stairs, Harry hurrying behind her. Suddenly, she stopped walking and he almost crashed into her. She was standing in front of a pair of beautiful doors, just like the ones outside the hall.

"This should be it," she sighed, twisting her head to glance over her shoulder briefly, an unreadable look on her face. Harry turned around, only to be faced with a similar door, but this one decorated in silver instead of gold.

"Your new room," Petunia announced, opening the doors and pushing them wide. "A room fit for a prince." She laughed derisively.

Harry stared.

The room was...there was no way to take everything in at once. The room was enormous - divided into two separate areas by a wall with a large open arch. Heavy green drapes with ropes of gold framed the arch and could no doubt be closed for privacy. From what Harry could see through the wide arch, there was a canopied bed on a raised platform, with a long, elaborately carved wooden trunk positioned at the end. He glimpsed another trunk against the wall beside the bed and the edges of what had to be a bureau.

As Petunia shooed him into the room ahead of her, he whipped his head around, staring at what had to be the lounge. Soft white fur rugs decorated the floor, and led into the bedroom. The far side of the room was completely open to the elements; small stone arches opened up to a balcony. Filmy green and white curtains blew gently, which draped over and between the windows and the archways.

There were many other things gawk at, such as the tiled mosaics peeking from underneath the rugs, to the beautiful wall murals, and delicately carved furniture, but he was forced to stop admiring the room when Petunia shut the doors firmly behind her and sat down on one of the strange, Greek-like couches. Almost like a chaise. She smoothed a hand over the silk green fabric cushioning the chaise and gave a small, nearly imperceptible sigh.

"Sit down." She gestured to another couch, "You'll need to with what I'm about to tell you."

Harry sat.

Petunia cleared her throat. "Where to start? I suppose I could let you ask the questions."

Harry had to squash the anticipation that was welling in his chest and tried to think of his most pressing question first.

"Indillayrah? What is…?" He finally asked.

Petunia's mouth twisted.

Harry waited with bated breath, somehow feeling that the answer to this question would be the answer to them all. Finally, Aunt Petunia spoke.

"A better way to ask that would be 'who'. _Who_ is _Indilaira_?"

Harry blinked. So _Indilaira_ was a person? Why wasn't he more surprised by this? Had he somehow known?

"All right," he said. "Who is she?"

Petunia looked up sharply. "How did you know it was a woman?"

Harry froze. How indeed. "I-I don't know. It sounded…?"

"And how," Petunia demanded, "would you know what's supposed to sound female and what's supposed to sound male?"

Feeling cornered and oh-so-very uncertain, Harry snapped back, "How would _you_ know?"

Aunt Petunia sighed warily, "There's no way to put this gently." She paused and waited for Harry to absorb this, process it and act accordingly. He blinked. "I am from _Elwýn_."

Aunt Petunia didn't have to wait long for Harry's reaction. First there was confusion, then, as all the nuts and bolts began to click into place, understanding dawned and he gave a strangled yelp.

"W-what?" he stuttered.

"I am _Elwý._"

"B-but..." Harry stopped and swallowed. "Th-that's not possible. Y-you're human. Like me, like mum!"

Petunia closed her eyes, clearly pained. "I am not human, however much I wish I were."

"Impossible," whispered Harry, "you look nothing like...and Mum..."

"I am wearing a potion-created 'skin' - a kind of transformation disguise - and Harry..." For the first time, Petunia spoke to her nephew in a soft, comforting voice. Too bad it was at the same time that she was revealing truths that were shattering Harry's world. "Harry...Lily was _Elwý_ too."

Harry worked his jaw uselessly, trying to understand what Petunia was inferring. Did that mean...did that mean he wasn't human either? No, it couldn't! Harry looked down at his hands, felt his face and his hair and his ears. No, Harry Potter was one hundred percent human, that was for sure.

There was just simply no way! He clutched at his perfectly human ears and stared blankly at his aunt.

"That won't prove anything," Aunt Petunia said, gesturing at his body as he checked himself over. "Lily would have made sure you were wearing a skin too. Or you might have been born into it, which is more likely." She frowned and peered at him. "I wonder if it's permanent. You could truly be human for all intents and purposes."

"Huh?"

Harry's aunt was smiling now. "This could save us!" she exclaimed. "They might not want you like this!"

"What? Who might not want me? Aunt Petunia, I don't understand!" Harry felt a headache coming on - one of those panic induced headaches that came with great stress and shock. Harry latched onto the idea that he was still perfectly human and clung to it like a dying man a piece of driftwood lost at sea.

"The king and queen of course," she responded.

"What?" Harry exclaimed, shocked. "Why would they want me in the first place?"

"Well, you are Lily's only son."

"Well, yeah, but is it because I might be part Elwuhye?" The word was somewhat strange on his tongue and he knew immediately that he hadn't pronounced it correctly.

"Part?" Petunia asked, raising an eyebrow.

Harry blanched. "O-of course! My dad was James Potter, a wizard!" His voice was desperate, begging his aunt not to reveal anything worse.

James Potter had to be his father, he simply _had_ to. If Harry got told that the one man he had always thought of as his father was truly not, then...well, he didn't know what he'd do!

What Petunia said next wasn't exactly what Harry was dreading, but it was bad enough.

"Don't be stupid! If Lily was _Elwý_, then so was James!"

"I-I-I'm..." He trailed off miserably, shocked worse than before. He narrowed his eyes shrewdly. How was that even possible? Everyone talked about the Potters being such a well-known pureblood family of wizards, how could they possibly be so-called 'elves'? Even Sirius had said he'd known James all his life!

He bit his lip. "That's preposterous."

Aunt Petunia glared at him crossly, nails tapping her thigh harshly. "Why would I lie, you stupid boy! I'm telling you the truth!"

"So they want me because I'm...I'm an _ELF?_" Harry finally managed, wind-milling his arms about, trying and not succeeding in imagining himself looking like the elvin beings from earlier.

His aunt nodded her head.

"So-so why don't they want you as well?" He asked faintly, mind whirring at a mile a minute trying to piece everything together and ask the right questions.

"I was exiled," she responded simply.

"What?" Harry asked, so beyond shock he was now numb. He wondered how many more bombshells would be dropped on him before the day was done.

"I was exiled to the mortal realm for marrying a human," Petunia explained.

Harry's eyes widened. "I-I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Petunia snapped, "I planned it that way. I wanted away from this horrid place."

Harry looked around him at the beauty and splendour and wondered if his aunt was crazy, or at least severely delusional. Then again, for someone married to the likes of Vernon Dursley, Harry wouldn't put it past his aunt to be somewhat insane.

Abruptly, he paled, something terrible having just occurred to him.

"Is...is...Dudley...?" he asked faintly, already green at the thought.

"Half," Petunia confirmed.

Harry wanted to throw up. The thought of Dudley as...as...the image was _not_ a pleasant one.

"Yuck," he muttered. Fortunately, Petunia didn't hear or Harry might have had his ears screeched off.

"Don't worry," said Petunia, "they won't come after Dudley. He's been _tainted_ with human blood." She said the word sarcastically. "Although it is more than likely that the non-magical human blood negated most, if not all of his _Elwý_ heritage, so he should never have a problem." She sounded relieved at this thought. Harry personally thought that maybe acquiring some magic might do the bullying boy some good. He would gain a whole new perspective on life...not to mention Harry would then be the one lording over Dudley and not the other way around.

Just then, he remembered his very first question.

"Who is _Indilaira_?" he asked solemnly, somehow knowing he wouldn't like the answer, but fortunately pronouncing it properly.

Aunt Petunia paused, equally solemn, before responding. "Lily."

And somehow Harry had known.

"I-I knew that," he whispered, feeling sick again, because he _shouldn't _have known that. If everything Petunia was saying was a lie, or a delusion, or some stupid joke, then Harry _should not have known that_. Some fundamental part of his hastily constructed denial came tumbling down.

"And you," he continued, barely noticing his aunt's pinched face, "you must be _Taswafáne-aránelle._"

Petunia's face grew alarmed. Suddenly she looked around, as if expecting someone to pop out of the corners of the room, before leaning forward and staring Harry straight in the eye.

"Repeat exactly what I'm about to say to you back to me, all right?"

Harry nodded.

Aunt Petunia spoke carefully, enunciating each syllable so that Harry could hear them, although somehow her speech lacked the particular lilt that the rest of the elves had had. Still, he dutifully listened and tried his best to repeat the phrase, whatever it was. Surprisingly enough, he didn't have as much trouble with it as he thought he might. It came out almost naturally.

"That was easy," he commented.

Aunt Petunia sighed and rubbed her temples.

"I was afraid of this," she murmured.

"Afraid of what?" Harry demanded, feeling his panic start to creep back again.

"I'm afraid that you'll find picking up the elvin language - _Elwýnllambe_ - extremely easy."

"I don't get it."

Petunia glared at him. "It's like this; Lily and James were both elves, thus, it is highly likely that they spoke _Elwýnllambe_ with you as a child. Now, because an elf's brain is more developed than a human's-"

Harry interrupted her here with an exclaimed "What!" of indignation.

"Shut up!" Petunia snapped. "I didn't mean humans are stupider, just that an elf has more power over their mind by instinct, whereas humans use considerably less of their true brain power. We also have larger sections devoted to memory. Now, because an elf is like this, they are able to learn and develop much more quickly as children. We also remember much more, from much younger ages, and with much more clarity." She paused, allowing Harry to take all this in.

And take it in he did. Everything was ringing a bell with him. He'd always had such vivid childhood memories of the Durselys, although he'd always just assumed that was because they had been somewhat unforgettable, to put it mildly. Then there were those dreams about the day his parents had died, and remembering Hagrid flying with him on Sirius' motorbike.

Harry swallowed, feeling closer and closer to a potential melt down.

"S-so...Mum spoke to me in…?"

Petunia nodded stiffly.

"Oh." Harry's voice was small.

"This is bad," Petunia said, "it means that the likelihood of you being simply human is almost all but ruled out, but we might still be able to use that argument. So, whatever you do, don't let on that you know more than you do. They'll start teaching you, but pretend you don't understand, okay?"

Harry nodded solemnly, mind frantically latching onto that one word - _almost_. Aunt Petunia had said _almost all, _not _completely_. In Harry's books that meant there was still a chance - still a chance that this was all just some silly dream, or that the elves had the wrong Harry Potter.

He opened his mouth to ask some more questions, but before he could the door opened. Two guards stood in the entrance (not the ones from earlier), levitating Harry's trunk. They entered the room, and floated the slightly beaten looking brown trunk across the room to the left side of the bed. It looked very out of place.

The two guards made a funny sort of bow at Petunia and Harry, as if not quite sure _how_ to bow to two humans, and then said something to Petunia. Her lips thinned and her face tightened.

"Can't I have more time?" she asked.

The guards stared at her blankly.

Petunia sighed and closed her eyes, as if in pain. Slowly, she opened her mouth, and this time the words she spoke were in _Elwýnllambe._ She was clearly annoyed to speak it and she had to enunciate each word carefully again. Harry, all too aware that he knew more than he should, clearly heard the differences in her speech and the speech of the guards.

However, she was obviously understood, because one of the two guards shook his head 'no' and said something. Aunt Petunia stood up.

"Harry," she began, "I'm sorry we don't have more time. They're forcing me out, despite my request. I promise you I will do what I can to get you out of here. Do what I told you to, don't reveal too much. Try to convince them that you are not what they want." The guards gestured impatiently. Petunia shot them an imperious look and started walking slowly. She looked over her shoulder at Harry. "But whatever you do, don't disobey. Don't cross them, or the consequences could be bad. Make sure you're still in once piece when I come back to get you." She paused at the door. "For what it's worth, I _am_ sorry Harry. I tried, I really did, and I wouldn't wish this on even you."

She left the room.

The last thing Harry saw or heard of his aunt before he was left alone was a faint "good luck" floating back through the open door, and then it was shut.

* * *

_I apologise for the delay in getting this chapter out. I have been having ridiculous problems with both my internet and my stupid new macbook. I swear the older, 4 year version worked better. At least that one had the courtesy of crashing on me when I **wasn't **trying to upload documents/post new chapters. **Ahem**. This chapter was supposed to be up 24 hours ago. Oh well, better late than never I suppose._

_I'm very pleased about the response this repost has garnered so far. You're all being incredibly supportive, and I can't thank you enough. It's been a 3 year journey (I know, hard to believe, but as a reviewer pointed out to me it has, in fact, been **three years**.) and I wish I could have gotten my act together a whole lot sooner instead of putting you guys through all this. As such I'm going to try harder to keep the updates consistent. At the moment I have some spare time and I'm putting it to use trying to create a buffer for myself so that when I'm being swamped by the demands of my graduation dissertation (someone please, just kill me now and save me the agony!) I won't leave you all hanging for months on end. _

_I want to give a special thanks to those of you who really spent some time giving me very appreciated constructive feedback. I'm happy when people read (and like, of course) my writing, but knowing that you've taken the time to help me improve really makes my day. So **thank you**. _

_And, I suppose, thanks to my sister for being there at 1am in the morning when I have a fanciful plot idea and simply **must** discuss it asap..._

_If you have any questions or comments, please don't hesitate to PM me or write it in a review. I think I managed to get back to everyone's reviews this last chapter (though I'm still working through the PMs!), but if I missed any, just drop me another and I'll get round to it eventually. I'd appreciate more feedback on this (hopefully) new and improved chapter 2. As you can see, many things remained the same but there were a few scenic changes. Harry now has a much nicer room! Hehe._

_Until next time!_

_xoxRia_

_Posted: 26/01/11  
_


	3. Family

_Ex Sanguis Version 2.0 chapter changes: grammar, spelling, syntax, descriptive elements, minor scene editing and addition_

* * *

**Chapter 3: Family**

Harry was at a loss. He had no idea what to do. Aunt Petunia had given him the shock of his life, scared him by acting _sorry_ for him, then left him completely and utterly alone in a strange world with an inhuman people whose language he didn't understand with hardly any answers.

He sat on the couch, staring at the door through which she'd left, mind numb. He didn't know for how long he sat there, watching the door blankly, but eventually his brain began to function again, and went straight from zero activity to running a mile a minute. He couldn't believe that Aunt Petunia - his normal-loving, magic-hating muggle aunt - was an otherworldly creature from another dimension. It simply wasn't possible to equate the two beings in Harry's mind. He thought of his mother, of all the pictures he'd seen of her, laughing and smiling. He tried to imagine her already beautiful face on the body of an elf. He couldn't do it, rather, perversely, his mind strayed to the beautiful red-headed queen. They were surprisingly similar...

Harry's eyes widened. He put the two women side by side and wondered at their same hair colour, eye colour and... He got up suddenly and rushed over to his trunk, pulling it open and digging right to the bottom. There, he found the album Hagrid had given him in first year. Smoothing down the front lovingly, he opened it to one of his favourite pictures of his parents and stared at his mother.

There was no mistaking it, the queen looked very similar to her. Harry hoped it was simply a coincidence. He couldn't imagine the implications if he was somehow related to the _queen_.

_ I don't need something _else_ singling me out again, _he thought.

Harry shoved the awful thought out of his mind and sat down on the bed, still holding the picture album. He looked at his parents again, and could now easily imagine his mum as an elf.

_Everyone always says I have her eyes_, he thought curiously, staring his mum's bright green eyes in one of the later, colour photos. They were definitely an otherworldly green, now that Harry thought about it.

But he still couldn't imagine himself as an elf. It simply _wasn't possible_.

Harry shook his head and focused on his father. He flipped through a few pictures, but there was just no way he could see the mischievous and grinning face as an elf. Sort of like himself; his father was just too human, his face too rugged and hair too windswept.

He flipped to another one to be sure, but this one had all four Marauders in it, including Sirius.

He stared at it gloomily. A good majority of him wanted to scratch Wormtail out of the picture, but he was loathe to ruin its pristine condition. He reached up and scrubbed at his eyes, which were prickling at the thought of Sirius and his parents, now all three dead. Up until that point over the past few days of summer, Harry had been too busy to think about his godfather's demise, but now...

He silently flipped to a different page. This one with only his mum and dad. He shoved his mind back on track: how his father could possibly be an elf.

How could that possibly work anyhow? Harry thought furiously about everything he'd ever been told about the Potters - how they were a prominent, pureblood Light family and were as well known as the Malfoys.

He just didn't understand how his father could suddenly enter the picture and not have it questioned, or have everyone know he wasn't _really_ James Potter. His mum had been muggleborn. A muggleborn's past could easily be faked, but a pureblood's? It simply wasn't possible.

"Aunt Petunia was wrong," Harry said out loud, just to make the words seem more real and convincing. _And I am not in denial_, he finished silently, when one part of him tried to point out all the convincing evidence to the contrary.

Suddenly determined not to think about such things for any longer, Harry shut his album and set it aside on the bed. He got up and began exploring the room, prepared to wait until he saw someone so he could explain their mistake.

The exposed archways continued along the same wall from the other room, and covering the dividing walls were two beautiful stone murals which seemed related to each other. One was a landscape, which jumped the archway and melded on the other side into a shining depiction of a mother of pearl palace. The palace consisted of three large buildings, two of which were perched on mountains, with golden archways connecting them.

As Harry's eyes wandered over the mural, they slid to corner of the room where another small archway nestled, obscured by more curtains. He wandered over that way, intent on seeing whether or not it might be a bathroom (Harry would bet all the galleons in his vault that it was). Indeed, if Harry had actually betted, he would have been twice as rich. While not quite what he was used to, it was unmistakably a bathroom.

There was a large carved stone basin in the floor. There was a single, golden faucet but no knobs, and Harry wondered how one turned it on. There were also, much to his shock, large windows lining the outside wall. They let the light in, but also left anyone in the bathroom completely visible. There were some shimmering transparent curtains strung up, but they were more for aesthetic decoration than actually masking anything. Harry was taken aback by this voyeuristic set up and skirted around the tub to peer out the windows.

Then again, he thought, it wasn't like anyone would ever be able to see through the windows. They were obviously in a rather large and high tower. There were other, beautiful, shining white towers in the distance, which also looked to be part of the castle, and the only ones higher than the tower he was in himself were either on the opposite end of the castle or out of sight. He guessed, then, that it wouldn't matter if the bath was on an open ledge, because no one would be seeing him any time soon.

Harry retreated from the glass and went back to the middle of the bathroom. A low set, shallow basin could only be a sink, although there was no faucet to speak of, so he wasn't sure how it worked. Next to the basin was a small wooden chest which reminded him of a jewellery box. Perhaps for toiletries?

There was a large mirror in an intricate wooden frame set against one wall and he stared at his reflection in it for a second. He'd completely forgotten he was still in his pyjamas. He peered closer. His hair looked like a bird's nest, his face was splotchy from sleep, and he probably stank of sweat too.

Blushing in embarrassment at being seen by all those elves (and the _king _and_ queen_) in such a state, Harry decided that now would be an opportune time to figure out how the bath worked.

He stepped over to the tap and crouched down over it, searching for any hidden knobs or buttons. He didn't find any, so tried seeing if the tap itself was a knob. This wasn't so, because as soon as Harry placed his hand on the tap, it began to heat slowly underneath his hand. Blinking in surprise, he pulled his hand back and stared at the tap like it had suddenly sprouted wings.

Trying again, Harry hesitantly touched the tap and felt it heat under his finger tips. He kept his fingers there, even when the tap began to heat up almost unbearably, but when no hot water was forthcoming, he frowned and tapped it in irritation. Water came gushing out and he jumped, yanking his hand back, though the water didn't stop.

_It's like one of those tap lamps_, he thought dazedly.

He watched the running water for a brief moment, before leaving the bathroom to go search in his trunk for some appropriate clothes he could wear.

Unfortunately, but hardly surprising, the only things that weren't either overly large or so worn with use that they were falling to pieces were his dress robes and school uniform. He didn't think wearing dress robes was entirely appropriate, so that left him with his school uniform.

Sighing, he held up his white collared shirt and school slacks. It was completely different from what any of the elves had been wearing that Harry had seen, but it was better than nothing.

He took the clothes with him into the bathroom, just in case someone walked in when he was changing. He set the shirt and trousers, as well as a clean pair of boxers on a wicker-like stool near the sink and began searching for towels.

The most obvious place was the tall, but rather slim, wooden door set into the wall next to the mirror, which, when opened, revealed a sort of linen closet. It had stacks of towels and smaller hand cloths, as well as some other things that Harry could only assume one used to wash oneself with. He took all of them, including the coloured glass bottles.

Setting them all down at the edge of the still filling tub, he unstopped one of the bottles and smelled the liquid. It smelled of some vague fragrance, but nothing overpowering. The other bottles all had different scents, but they were incredibly faint and not at all sweet or sickly. Harry hoped they were some sort of shampoo equivalent and not the elvin idea of perfume.

Next came the challenge of turning off the water. It was getting dangerously high. Harry reached over and touched the tap, hoping the water would stop, and to his surprise, it did just that.

_Convenient_, he mused.

He washed himself quickly but thoroughly, nervous that any second someone would walk into his room and come investigate. No one did, fortunately, but Harry was in and out of the water in ten minutes, clean, and with his hair smelling a lot nicer.

He dressed just as fast and then rinsed his mouth out for lack of any toothpaste or toothbrush, which he'd left back in the Dursley's bathroom. Harry found this quite inconvenient. But, he did find a carved wooden brush with gold inlay in the box and tried to use it to tame his hair, which naturally failed. Glaring his hair into submission didn't work either.

Running a hand through his locks ruthfully, Harry transferred his wand from his pyjama pocket to his trouser pocket, and felt a lot more ready to face whoever came through the door next.

Apparently, he needn't have hurried, because after five minutes of waiting nervously on the chaise, still no one appeared. Feeling annoyed and wondering if he was going to be left alone in his room for the rest of the day, he got up and wandered over to the open balcony.

The breeze was slightly stronger outside, but the air was pleasantly warm, a far cry from England. Harry stood at the railing and looked more closely at the castle.

That was the first thing. He couldn't really call it a castle, because it was obviously not a _real_ castle. A real castle would be made out of stones and have battlements and maybe a moat for good measure. No, the word 'palace' seemed much more appropriate for this place, because it was far more decadent than any castle could ever be.

The whole thing was sprawling, large enough to house a city and five times larger than Hogwarts. From what he could tell, the palace was built on a ravine, or a steep hill, because there was a large and ornate bridge between the section of palace he was in and the section that he could see in the distance on a lower hill. It was smaller, perhaps closer to the size of Hogwarts, though no less impressive for size. He wondered if any entire city of these 'elves' really did live in these stunning palaces, or if there were even more buildings somewhere out of sight.

He suddenly realised what the mural on his wall had been depicting. He ducked under a waving curtain and eyed it critically. It was a little embellished (the bridge wasn't really made out of solid gold, after all), but the resemblance was definitely there.

He stood there and marvelled at how in a couple of hours he'd gone from dreary muggle England to some fanciful dimension he hadn't even known existed. It was utterly surreal.

Harry's eyes widened.

"That's it!" he exclaimed out loud. "I must be dreaming!"

He hadn't questioned it before, but he had to be dreaming. That was the only explanation. No matter how real all this seemed, it just couldn't be true.

He laughed slightly. Really, Aunt Petunia acting nice? Him, an elf? James and Lily Potter elves?

He certainly had a fanciful imagination to have come up with all this.

Chuckling to himself at the absurdity of it all, Harry backed up to the bed and flopped down, closing his eyes, waiting to wake up. After a few minutes, he began to feel sleepy and attributed this to how he was feeling in the real world...and that perhaps he'd wake up soon.

No such luck.

Harry heard the footsteps just in time to sit up, wide-eyed, and hear the door swing open. He scrambled from the bed and made it to the archway just in time to watch the small congregation that entered.

The first to walk in was the king, followed shortly by the queen and an older looking elf with slightly silvery hair. The guard who had opened the door bowed his way out, one hand over his heart, and Harry had a brief moment of panic, wondering what he was supposed to do. Bow? Offer them a seat?

Deciding it was better safe than sorry, Harry quickly dropped to one knee in an imitation of the bow he'd done before.

The king said something.

"Rise," came an older voice, melodious and with a mild accent he couldn't place.

Harry got cautiously to his feet. He saw that the king and queen had seated themselves on one of the chaise-couches. The king nodded at him and gestured to the other chaise, saying something that could only mean 'sit down'. He didn't even need the older elf's translation of "please be seated" and was already crossing the room. He sat down slowly, fidgeting nervously under the couple's scrutinising. He dug through his brain, searching for a reason why the _king _and _queen_ had come to see him again.

Surely...

No. Lily had _not_ been related to the queen. It was a simply ridiculous notion.

They sat in silence for a while as the royal couple studied him. Finally, it was the queen who spoke first.

"You are looking more presentable," translated the elf, standing behind the couch to the right.

Harry blinked at this.

"Er, thanks?" he ventured, immediately berating himself for sounding so stupid in front of a king and queen - not to mention probably rude.

The translator didn't say anything, so Harry assumed that the two could understand English, but just didn't speak it (which he thought odd).

The king spoke next, gesturing at the translator. Harry eyed him as he spoke.

"This _Elwý_ here will be your translator and language tutor. You will learn _Elwýnllambe _as a top priority."

Harry gaped.

"We will also send up a tailor after we leave to take your measurements for some decent clothes. Tomorrow you will begin lessons."

Harry gaped some more.

"W-wait!" he spluttered, forgetting he was speaking to royalty for a moment. The queen and king gave him sharp looks. "Er, your majesties," he added hastily, "I think you have the wrong person!"

The queen gave a quiet, tinkling laugh that clearly displayed her incredulousness at this suggestion.

"No really," Harry tried again, desperately, "I'm just Harry Potter. Even if my mum _was_ an elf, er, Elwuhye," here Harry purposefully mispronounced the word, just to get his point across, "my dad was definitely a wizard! He was a Potter! And Aunt Petunia said I was probably born like this, so I'm also definitely a wizard too."

Harry watched the couple's reactions after this and wasn't disappointed when the queen and king exchanged unsettled looks and murmured quietly to each other. He didn't get a translation for this, so was only left guessing as to what they were saying.

The queen faced him again. "There is no way you cannot be _Elwý_, and we will find a solution to your appearance as soon as possible. Do not worry."

Harry almost laughed at this. Worry? He wasn't worried about being human, he was worried about being an _elf_! However, he didn't say this out loud, feeling that the monarchs might find it a bit insulting.

"And Harry Potter," his name was said with a strange accent, "is not your real name. Your real name is _Araëmel_. _Araëmel_-_aryón_." The translator had to pause and think on this for a bit before he could come up with an appropriate translation. "Crown Prince Araëmel."

Harry heard the words 'Crown Prince'. They clawed their way through his ear and burrowed their way into his brain, but it took a moment for him to remember how to work his mouth long enough for him to spit out a, "W-what?"

Oh no, no no! This wasn't happening! Not more surprises. Wait..._Crown_ Prince?

Did that mean what Harry thought it meant? That he was the _heir_?

He paled.

He had enough on his plate as it was! He didn't need to add 'being heir to a alternate-dimensional race of beautiful fairy tale beings' to the list.

Harry dearly wished he had a wall to bang his head on. Or maybe he should waltz up to Voldemort's lair and say, "Kill me now please and save me the trouble."

"Araëmel," repeated the translator, as if he had stuttered because of his 'real' name and not the title.

"Not that," Harry said faintly. "The Crown Prince part. That's a joke right?"

"We do not joke," the queen said sharply and even though the translator spoke monotonously, Harry could tell she was angry. Then again, Harry thought he might be picking out familiar words that had repeated several times already and associating them with particular images and emotions in his head. It was a strange sort of understanding, and it made Harry nervous and upset. Everything was going to the dogs, and right smack in the middle of the dog pile was Harry Potter.

"You are Crown Prince Araëmel. Your mother was our daughter. You are our grandson." The queen spoke again after a moment, and this time the translator interpreted.

Grandson? Harry stared blankly. That couldn't be possible, they didn't look a year over thirty!

"Grandmother? Grandfather?" Harry said sceptically, looking from one elf to the other in amazement.

Suddenly the reality of that statement sunk in. He had...family? _Real_, _loving_ family?

_Family...Grandparents..._

The words echoed in his head, negating all other thoughts.

"Yes," said the king, "we are your grandparents."

Harry blinked.

"Really? But you're so _young_," he breathed, beginning to feel more like this really _was_ a dream - a _nice_ dream. A nice dream where Harry had family and he was a handsome, beloved prince and he no longer had to deal with the harsh realities of the wizarding world. Yes, everything made sense. It was just a really long, very surreal dream...

The queen made an exasperated noise.

Harry peered at her, at her uncanny resemblance to his mother, and couldn't stop the happy sort of grin that twitched at his lips. He had _grandparents_! Never mind that they were the king and queen of a completely different race, Harry could ignore that. In fact, that was probably why they looked so young in the first place.

"Wait, so that makes Aunt Petunia your daughter as well right?" he asked.

"Yes, though she has been exiled for her impure acts," the king told him gravely.

_That's a bit harsh, isn't it?_ Harry wanted to say, but remembered how formal his aunt had been towards her own parents, and swallowed his tongue, stopping the words.

The queen stood up, the king following. Harry hastily did so as well. Giving him a tight smile, the queen told him that they would send the tailor up immediately, and that the translator would stay with him and be at his beck and call, as well as begin to tutor him at all available opportunities.

Harry stood awkwardly as they left, feeling completely overwhelmed and like his life was slowly spiralling out of his control. Fate really hated him.

But, grandparents!

Harry smiled again.

The translator cleared his throat.

"I am Quenahgóla, my prince. We must start lessons immediately."

Slowly, Harry sat back down as Quenahgóla (what a mouthful!) sat down in the seat previously vacated by the royals.

For the next fifteen minutes, Quenah (as Harry had decided to call him in his head) managed to drill in seven different ways of greeting and farewells, as well as the correct pronunciation of all the words he had been "butchering" up till then. Quenah told Harry that, due to the human physiology, he would be unable to make certain sounds in his throat and would have to make do with trying to imitate them as best he could. He admitted he was mildly disappointed, but then again, it was a small price to pay for being human.

By the time the tailor showed up, Harry had picked up far more than he gave any indication of knowing, and while this unnerved him slightly, he also felt a deep satisfaction at succeeding in doing something perhaps better than Hermione for once. She would be so proud.

The tailor, he found, was a small elf woman (although small was a relative term when it came to the elves) who was levitating a large wooden chest and several rolls of vellum. She bowed deeply to Harry, hand over her heart, then did a double take and almost dropped her chest and parchment. She gaped at his obviously human appearance in confusion. She said something to Quenah (Harry heard the word for human), who then replied back. Whatever was exchanged seemed to put her at ease and she bowed again, muttering the words, _"Araëmel-aryón"_ at him.

She set up on a small table in the corner of the sitting room and seemed to pull a footstool out of nowhere for him to stand on. She was overly respectful to him, bowing, keeping a distance of a few feet and her eyes lowered. Harry wasn't sure whether the last two were a show of respect, or some strange fear of him. He wasn't an idiot - with the way the other elves had made a point of getting out of his and Aunt Petunia's way, and the way Petunia had talked of being exiled because she had married a human, he could tell that for some reason humans were disliked or feared.

Harry suffered through the measuring and testing of different scraps of coloured fabrics and metals against his skin, eyes, and hair. His suffering was doubled when Quenah insisted on explaining the beginnings of _Elwýnllambe _grammar to him. He had Harry wishing to be anywhere else within the first two sentences. He could feel a headache coming on.

Truthfully, he wasn't sure what to make of the grammar. It was at times so completely different from English grammar that it left him wondering how people could understand it, but at the same time, some things just seemed so _familiar_.

Harry tried not to let his nervousness - nor his understanding - show.

After the tailor left, he stopped Quenah from speaking - not knowing how much more he could take - by informing the translator that as far as he was concerned, Quenah was speaking gibberish.

"My deepest apologies, Araëmel-aryón, I see that I am inadequately explaining our language to you. Perhaps I should relate it to English first," Quenah apologised profusely.

Harry sighed, seeing no way out of language lessons. But at least they could do this properly. "Hold on, let me get some paper. Might as well write stuff down so I don't forget."

"An excellent idea, Your Highness!" cried Quenah.

Harry tried to ignore the extra forms of address everyone seemed to insist on adding to their sentences and his new elvin name, and went to get some parchment, quill and ink.

"How quaint!" Quenah exclaimed over the quill and ink. Harry remembered the metal fountain pen that the tailor had used to write with and couldn't help but agree.

For what seemed like the next century and a half, Harry was taught the inner workings of the language of the elves. For everything that Quenah had him write down, Harry had to do oral practise, and this was probably the most embarrassing part - not to mention difficult. Sometimes Harry would be completely unable to pronounce a word, even if he actually tried, and other times it just embarrassed him to say something wrong and know he could be doing better if he tried.

The rest of it was just plain boring.

"Repeat after me," Quenah said for what must have been the tenth time. "To be. _Nár_."

"Nayr," said Harry with a sigh.

"_Nár,_" repeated Quenah.

"Naar," said Harry.

Quenah made an exasperated sound in the back of his throat. "Your Highness, this is one of the most easy verbs to learn, I am sure you can say it. _Nár._"

Rolling his eyes, Harry actually tried to imitate the pronunciation. _"Nár."_

"Wonderful!" beamed the elf. "Now, we must conjugate it. Do you remember the conjugation for first person, singular, nomative, normal speech patterns?"

Harry groaned.

After the first hour, his stomach began to protest its lack of breakfast, but he told it to be quiet. However, by lunch time, even Harry, who'd had lots of practise pretending he wasn't hungry, couldn't hide the loud growling of his stomach.

"Oh my!" gasped Quenah, "You must be hungry, Your Highness. Sometimes I get so carried away. Well, I appreciate your dedication to the subject, my prince, but perhaps we should adjourn to the lunch room and eat something."

"Er," began Harry.

"Or!" Quenah seemed to be getting increasingly excited about Harry's apparent desire to learn over satisfying his hunger, "We could have food brought to us, and continue our lessons while we eat."

Harry was about to tell him that he would very much prefer to take a break, but Quenah seemed to decide for them. He got up and told Harry to keep practising while he called for lunch; then he left.

Harry slumped at the table and put his head in his hands, groaning. Everything was moving so fast he barely had time to think, and now he was being called "Your Highness" and "prince" and learning some foreign language whose sounds he could barely pronounce. And yet, supposedly this was his _real_ language and his _real_ home.

Harry begged to differ on this, and half wished he was back at the Dursleys.

Any despite this...somehow another smaller part of him was whispering; _Yes, yes it is your language and your people. You know this to be true. Look how easy and familiar everything is. _

"Don't be stupid," he muttered to himself. He was _human_, not _Elwý_! It was as simple as that. All this was just one big dream, or someone had seriously got their facts wrong.

Then again, he couldn't help but feel he was being spoilt and ungrateful. Anyone with half a brain would be happy in these kinds of circumstances. He was in a beautiful room, being treated like royalty - no, he _was_ royalty - and he had grandparents! Not to mention, here he wasn't Harry Potter and didn't have the burden of being the Boy-Who-Lived.

But, he reminded himself, you have the burden of being a prince, and not just any prince, but the crown prince!

Yet, most people would kill to be princes and princesses, and surely it couldn't be all that bad? So he had to learn a few things, otherwise he bet he would be allowed to do whatever he wanted. The thought had quite a bit of appeal.

Harry had managed to procure a more pleasant visage by the time Quenah returned, and actually made a show of really paying attention. He needed to learn the language if he ever wanted to communicate with the elves. Plus, he felt he had a duty to learn the language that was supposed to be his from birth - that is, if everyone were to be believed.

A stray thought passed through his mind: maybe he could even impress his grandparents and they'd be happy with him if he worked hard enough.

Harry began to pay more attention to Quenah's words. When he practised speaking, he really tried - Quenah was delighted.

What must have been a servant brought lunch not long after Quenah came back. The silent, blandly dressed elf set the tray down on the table, eyes passing blankly over Quenah but widening at the sight of Harry. She bid a hasty, if respectful, retreat.

"Will everyone do that?" Harry asked Quenah when the servant left.

"Hm? Do what?" Quenah replied, eyeing the lunch and mumbling something about it being far better than what he got in his quarters.

"Look at me like that," said Harry, looking at his own lunch and wondering what half the foods were.

There were a lot of what looked like fruits and vegetables and some slices of what could only be some sort of meat. There was thin, almost flat bread as well and a block of what had to be what passed for cheese in this realm. He glanced at what Quenah was doing, and to his relief found that the man was placing things on top of a piece of 'bread' and eating it. Nothing strange there. He did the same.

"Of course, Your Highness," Quenah stated. "You look human. Of course people will be wary. You will take some getting used to."

Harry sighed and tried his bread. The meat was slightly salty, but the cheese-stuff was soft and a bit sweet. It was good.

"What's so bad about humans anyway?" he asked.

Quenah looked at him as if he had just asked why the sky was blue and the grass green.

"What _isn't_ bad?" he responded.

"Uh..."

"Humans are destructive, short lived, brutish, uncivilised, cruel, I could go on. They don't care for their environment or each other and try to constantly wipe each other out."

As Quenah spoke, Harry couldn't actually find anything wrong with what he said, which was very disturbing, but true. Humans _were_ destructive, short-lived, could be brutish (Uncle Vernon was an example of that), uncivilised (Harry thought of Dudley's table manners), and cruel. However, not _all_ humans were like that.

"In all senses of the word, humans are an inferior species, and as such should be avoided and be treated cautiously," Quenah concluded.

"We aren't inferior!" Harry snapped angrily, immediately riled up. Quenah's attitude reminded him of the purebloods' attitude towards muggles and muggleborns.

"Of course _you _aren't, Your Highness," said Quenah calmly. "You are _Elwý_, even if you look human on the outside."

"Not all humans are like that," Harry continued stubbornly, but Quenah didn't seem to hear him, he was too busy making another half-sandwich. Harry stared at the elf and shook his head in exasperation.

"Let's continue shall we, my prince?" asked Quenah.

With a sigh, Harry nodded.

* * *

_For those of you who check my author profile updates, you will have figured out by now that I've been having some computer problems. Actually, turns out, it wasn't the computer, but the adapter, which was short circuiting and cutting the power to my laptop, causing it to randomly shut down on me. One day, it just decided to completely **DIE** and leave me without a way to charge my laptop. No battery power means no access to any of my stuff. **VERY **frustrating, let me tell you. Well, Apple finally replaced the adapter, so now I have a shiny new one, with two different power cords, yay! _

_Moving on: before all this shit went down, I was working on the bg info for this fic, making sure everything was straight, etc...and I figured: what better way to keep things straight than to write up a vocab list, history guide, and draw a map of Elwyn and its surrounding territories. So, I did. I will most likely be posting that map up on my DeviantArt account when I post the next chapter, so I'll include a link...that is, if you're all interested to see it? Let me know if you are. _

_So, review responses weren't quite as much last chapter, though seeing as I hadn't changed a terrible amount, that's not surprising. There were more changes this time, so please let me know what you think of that. I added a whole lot more information about the language/grammar than before, and I want to know if you feel this is detrimental to the story (I couldn't help it, my language obsession coming to the fore here) or if it is just the right amount and not too overwhelming. Still no major changes to the plot however. In time, my friends, in time. _

_So, apologies on the long wait. Blame Apple. _

_And I will get round to replying to PMs. Honest._

_xoxRia_

_Posted: 05/02/11  
_


	4. Lessons

_Ex Sanguis Version 2.0 chapter changes: grammar, spelling, syntax, descriptive elements, additional scenes (recommend re-reading, due to additional background information)_

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* * *

Chapter 4: Lessons**

By the end of the day, Harry was completely fed up with the elvin language, but he had learnt a fair deal. He could now form basic broken sentences with Quenah's help and had a long list of vocabulary he needed to memorise. Of course, none of this negated the fact that no matter how hard Harry tried, he couldn't pronounce some of the words properly. Quenah kept telling him "all in good time" and that it would eventually come to him, but Harry wasn't so sure. After all, hadn't Quenah said that human throats were physically incapable of making some of the elvin sounds?

After the older elf had left, he even went so far as to try and practise on his own, yet no matter how hard he tried he couldn't do it.

_It means you're human, Harry_, he had to keep reminding himself whenever he got overly frustrated.

Still, he went to bed that night impressed with his progress. He liked to think that Hermione would have been impressed too, and smirked at the thought that he might have done better than her. He could just picture her, eyebrows creased and eyes narrowed in frustration by the sounds of a language that she couldn't pronounce no matter how hard she tried. Laughing slightly, he turned over in his very comfortable bed and tried to sleep.

It took a while, because his mind was so occupied with thoughts of his day, but eventually Harry must have fallen asleep, because he was woken up the next morning by Quenah's droning voice telling him it was time to get up. Harry's eyes snapped open and stared at the elf that was leaning over him. He yelped and jerked back, rolling over and falling off the other side of the bed.

"Oww," were his first words to greet the new day.

"My apologies, Your Highness," said Quenah, "I did not mean to startle you."

_Yeah, right,_ thought Harry, but wisely didn't say anything as he climbed to his feet.

"What are you doing here?" he asked suspiciously.

"Did you forget your lessons were to begin today, Your Highness?" asked Quenah, sounding slightly amused.

"Oh," Harry said, wondering what these supposed lessons were.

"The tailor should have something for you by now as well. Please bathe yourself as I call for her."

"Wait!" Harry called frantically at Quenah's retreating back. "You don't mean she's going to come into the bathroom is she?" Who knew what strange customs these elves had?

"No," Quenah said, looking puzzled, "She will wait in here and _I_ will come into the bathroom."

"But," said Harry weakly, but Quenah had already left. "Great..."

Deciding it couldn't be helped - and at least Quenah was the same gender - Harry got up and shuffled into the bathroom. He peered at his reflection and fumbled with the faucetless sink for some water. Running hands around the shallow depression, he yanked them back when water filled the bowl shape from the bottom up. No longer surprised at anything involving magic, he simply splashed some on his face to wake himself up a bit more, then moved towards the tub.

At the Dursleys, Harry usually only got to shower once every few days, so in the mornings he would just wash his face. But it seemed cleanliness was important to elves and they must bathe everyday, so with that in mind, Harry ran the bath and stripped while he waited for it to fill at least half way.

He kept sending nervous glances at the curtain across the archway into his room, but he heard no doors open, or footsteps, so assumed Quenah wasn't going to pop his head through any time soon.

He stopped the water and got in, relishing in the heat and feeling more rejuvenated. Washing quickly and only rinsing his hair without shampooing it, Harry had a bath in record time. And it seemed that he wasn't a moment too soon when he got out and wrapped a towel around his waist, running the other over his wet hair: Quenah's voice could be heard in the other room, telling the tailor something. Harry heard the words "him" and "please wait" so only assumed that the elf would appear any second.

"Your Highness, I brought your clothes," said Quenah as he entered. He was carrying a bundle of silky looking fabrics.

Harry dropped the second towel he was holding and inspected the garment that Quenah was holding up. It was just like most of the others he'd seen; a long-sleeved tunic-type shirt in a muted shade of green.

"Ok," he said, "I can get dressed on my own, thanks." He hoped Quenah would take the hint and leave.

Fortunately he did. He sketched a bow and said, "Of course, Your Highness. I'll be waiting outside."

Harry watched him leave and then made sure he was completely dry before discarding his first towel and laying out the clothes. He found what could only be the undergarments and put them on, over which came a brown pair of loose pants. The fabric draped strangely and he felt a little foolish in them. Next came the long tunic, which was easy to put on. There was a strange leather jerkin which he fumbled with for a while before he figured out how to lace it up properly. However, it took him a while to figure out how to do up the long length of embroidered cloth which he thought he was supposed to wrap around his waist. In the end, he had to give up and call on Quenah to come help.

"It's done like this," the elf explained helpfully as he made Harry stand with his arms out to the sides and facing the mirror in order to watch. He deftly wound the silky wrap around Harry's waist so the embroidery showed and did something funny with the ends in the back that made it stay in place.

"Um," said Harry uncertainly, twisting his head to get a better look.

"I'll show you again later, Your Highness," Quenah promised, then led him out of the bathroom.

The moment the tailor saw him, she jumped to her feet with a deep curtsy (she was wearing a high-collared dress today). Harry stopped, not knowing what to do, but she straightened and gestured him over to her magically-appearing footstool. He got on the stool and modelled for her as she muttered comments and asked him to turn right and left. Throughout the entire exchange, Quenah didn't say a word, and Harry felt fairly proud of himself for understanding enough of what the tailor was saying to be able to follow her instructions.

Then again, he suspected that some of the vocabulary that Quenah had taught him yesterday had been specifically targeted at certain things, such as the instructions the tailor was giving him. Nevertheless, Harry felt a small measure of accomplishment after the tailor left. She had given him two more sets of clothes to wear, and he marvelled at her ability to make so many outfits in only a day and night. He already knew elves had magic, so perhaps that had been involved.

"Is she making more?" he asked Quenah as they left his room (but not before Harry had grabbed his wand from the bedside table, remembering Moody's paranoia about constant vigilance). He searched for somewhere to place his wand, and eventually settled for sticking it in his waist wrap. It was a bit awkward, and poked his side something terrible, but it would have to do. He made a mental note to ask one of the Order to get him an arm holster as soon as he saw them again.

_If_ he ever saw them again.

Harry paused his thoughts and firmly told himself not to be a pessimist. Aunt Petunia would not have left him here if she thought he was in any danger, and she had promised she would come collect him eventually. He didn't normally put much stock in anything his aunt promised him, but in this case he was inclined to believe her. Or rather, he was inclined to _want_ to believe her.

"No, not yet," replied Quenah, interrupting Harry's dangerous thoughts, "she's going to wait a bit and measure you again."

Harry didn't know why the tailor might want to measure him again, since he was bound to be the same measurements.

"Where are we going?" he asked instead.

"To breakfast with Their Majesties."

"Oh," Harry squeaked, not sure he was ready for that, but at the same time a little eager to see his grandparents.

"Shall we go over greetings, Your Highness?" asked Quenah, sounding slightly sympathetic.

Harry nodded his head eagerly, wanting to impress the two royals, and needing to make sure his memory hadn't run off sometime during the night.

It didn't take long to get to the breakfast room (Harry learned that there were separate rooms for each meal), which was a floor below Harry's. The room itself seemed to be built and placed so that it could completely maximise the early morning sunshine streaming through the open windows. It reflected off of the gorgeous floral stone mosaics on the walls in subtle shimmering colours. Standing near silently and almost invisibly against the walls near the door were two stoic elves. They wore matching clothes and choker necklaces and blended into their environment remarkably well. Harry spared them a curious glance before turning his attention to the main occupants. There was a circular table in the middle of the room where the king and queen were seated, calmly eating and speaking in soft tones to each other. When Harry and Quenah entered, they looked up. He greeted them hesitantly, afraid of messing up, but it seemed to come out just fine.

"_Araëmel_," said the king, a small smile on his lips, "_Did you sleep well?_"

This phrase had been one that Quenah had taught Harry the day before, yet despite that his ears picked up the sounds perfectly, he didn't recognise one of the words. Hoping he hadn't missed anything vital, he managed to croak out a 'yes, thank you' which actually sounded like it was supposed to. The king's smile widened at Harry's obvious comprehension of the language, despite having known none the day before.

"_Come, sit_," spoke the queen, she nodded as well to Quenah, acknowledging him, "_Your language has improved, I am impressed._"

Quenah translated the last bit for him, but Harry hadn't really needed it. Still, he waited for Quenah to finish before he mumbled a thank you.

"_I see you have new clothes,_" the king commented as he wandlessly levitated Harry a small bowl of fruits. Then he made a gesture with his hand and the servants on the wall glided forward to fill Harry's crystal goblet.

Harry thanked his grandfather uncertainly, eying the servants and wondering if he needed to thank them too. However, no one else acknowledged them, so he took his cue from that and focused on trying to dissect what the king had just said. It took no more than a few seconds to figure out the gist, but he hadn't understood everything and he didn't want to look like a fool by asking, so he decided a nod of the head was the best response, and hoped the king hadn't been expecting an actual answer.

They ate in silence for a while, the servants approaching only when something was needed. They were eerily proficient and so silent Harry nearly had a heart attack the first time he noticed one at his elbow ready to refill his goblet without so much as a footfall to announce her presence. Eventually, the queen decided to engage Harry in conversation, something to which Harry had been trying to avoid by keeping his head down and mind focused on eating.

"_You have lessons today,_" she told him, while sipping some sort of sweet wine from a glass goblet.

After Quenah had leaned over and whispered the English translation of one of the unfamiliar words into Harry's ear, he was able to deduce her meaning. The second word he hadn't recognised was the same one the King had employed earlier, but he had also noticed this time that there was a distinct lack of personal pronouns and was beginning to suspect Quenah hadn't taught him everything yet.

He shook his head slightly, promising himself to get an explanation later. For the moment, he had to worry about 'lessons'. Wracking his brain for the list of question words he'd memorised the night before (but some of which he had forgotten, because it was a _long_ list), Harry managed to say, "_What lessons?_"

"_Etiquette, geography, and an introduction to sword fighting, archery and horse riding._"

All those had to be translated for Harry. When comprehension dawned, he paled and wondered how on earth he was going to get through all that in one piece. It sounded like something Malfoy would do in his spare time. Harry shuddered.

"_Furthermore_," continued the queen, "_we have been looking into our research on skins and their effects and have our best potions masters and spell crafters searching for an answer to your...problem._"

Harry didn't understand a whole lot of what his grandmother had just said, but it sounded ominous from tone alone. When Quenah had translated everything, Harry's eyes nearly popped out of his head. They couldn't possibly mean…?

Harry quickly schooled his features, but inside he was frantically panicking. He didn't want them to use him as some sort of potions experiment!

The king turned and said, _"Shall we depart then?"_ to his queen and they both stood. Harry quickly stood as well, bowing like he knew he should, and rattling off the already-memorised departing phrase. The king chuckled a bit at this and they both exited the room, leaving Harry alone with Quenah.

"You did well," praised Quenah as soon as the door was shut. "Better than I thought."

Harry smiled nervously at this, shrugging and saying, "Yeah, surprised me too. Must do well under pressure." More like he only did well under pressure.

Quenah nodded at this, taking the excuse as it was.

Harry glanced at him, wondering how fast he could learn the language. The more he could understand them, the better advantage he would have. Maybe he could even find a way to get back to Britain and leave this whole mess behind.

_What about your grandparents?_ his traitorous mind asked.

_They're not _really_ my grandparents_, he tried to convince himself.

_But you want them to be. You want a family._

_I have Aunt Petunia_, Harry grumbled to himself angrily, then even he had to snort at this. His aunt had never treated him like family before and only recently had even voluntarily called him by his first name.

Harry sighed.

_Just don't think about it. _

Thus, Harry Potter's slightly insane mental conversation ended, and he was _not_ in denial, thank you very much. He turned to Quenah.

"Keep teaching me," he ordered the elf.

Quenah's face broke out in a large grin. "With pleasure, Your Highness."

They spent the rest of breakfast going over what Harry had learned the other day and reinforcing it, continuing even on the way down to the lower portions of the palace where Harry would be having lessons with an elf who had dedicated her life to etiquette. Quenah tried to fill Harry's brain with as many words and phrases as he could think of that might pertain to anything the etiquette teacher could say. It was entirely too much for Harry to remember of course, but Quenah made Harry repeat several of the more important ones over and over again until he was about ready to scream, but definitely had them memorised. The most important word, of course, was the name of the etiquette teacher's position - there wasn't a word for it in English, but it loosely translated to 'Master of Etiquette'.

When they walked into the room of their destination, he was feeling a little more confident, but not overly so. This confidence was completely shattered when, as soon as they entered through the door, the teacher - a fair haired elf woman who strongly reminded Harry of Professor McGonagall by her demeanour and facial expression - rose and executed a rather elaborate curtsy and greeting statement that was like nothing Harry knew. Having no idea what to do, he simply stood there uncertainly. When the teacher straightened, she took one look at Harry and immediately pursed her lips in a very McGonagall way and gestured sharply at a chair with the words, "_Please sit down, Your Highness._"

Understanding that much, Harry sat down, feeling totally overwhelmed and watched as Quenah took a seat beside him. He shot the elf a desperate look, but Quenah ignored it and smiled encouragingly.

And thus began a lesson that Harry would later liken to being worse than Dolores Umbridge's Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

It was quite obvious from the beginning that Harry had no clue about any sort of elvin etiquette, and the teacher seemed to take personal offence to this. She made a point of speaking quickly and using big words and long-winded explanations that even Quenah had trouble translating into English in order to describe the ins and outs of every day elvin social interaction. This was the first hour, and poor Quenah spent more time speaking - trying to explain to Harry a lot of the obscure words that simply didn't have a direct translation - than the teacher did.

"A what?" Harry complained for the tenth time in fifteen minutes.

"_Laeryénal _is a type of bow performed only to members of the Houses, but only when the one bowing is a member of the Houses of a lower rank, and only when it is a bow executed for purposes of apology. It is very elaborate."

"And the 'Houses' are like the aristocracy, right?"

"Yes, Your Highness, that's right."

"So what you're saying is that instead of saying sorry for something, some lower aristocrat has to do this funny, fancy bow?"

"Not...exactly, Your Highness. The bow is the initiation of the apology, and the closing of the apology both, but not the apology itself."

"So then what's the point, why not just apologise and be done with it?"

The etiquette teacher nearly had a heart attack, Quenah nearly groaned - and Harry really didn't get why everything had to be so complicated.

Harry frowned. "And why only the Houses? What if a...commoner, I guess, had to make an apology to a member of the Houses instead?"

The etiquette teacher looked like she'd swallowed a bushel of lemons whole. She immediately began to berate Harry through Quenah.

"Your Esteemed Highness, I beg you to understand the difference between a member of the honoured Houses and a simple commoner. There would never arrive such a situation, for it is unheard of for a commoner to even conceive of offending a member of the Houses enough to warrant an apology," Quenah translated verbatim.

The teacher pursed her lips and added sourly, _"Your Highness should also understand that if such a situation was to occur, the offender in question would pay with his or her life."_

Harry was aghast. "The death penalty!" he exclaimed. "For something like that?"

"Not the death penalty," Quenah was quick to explain, before the etiquette teacher could burst a blood vessel, "there is no such barbaric thing in _Elwýn_, Your Highness. The offender in question would have to swear servitude to whichever House member he or she had offended in order to repay the wrongdoing."

Harry didn't think that this was much better. His mind flashed back to the two collared servants in the breakfast room and wondered if those two poor elves had somehow offended the king and queen and had to swear themselves into servitude.

In the end, Harry learned a lot of useless things, but not much about the people themselves - except for the fact that they all seemed to live by a never-ending set of overbearing rules which allowed for virtually no freedom whatsoever. The etiquette teacher didn't help matters either. She was like a woman possessed. She seemed entirely too passionate about the intricacies of the underlying meanings behind certain greetings and forms of speech than was healthy. She was like a highly-strung, less tolerant, but more sycophantic version of his Transfiguration professor. Rather than risk upsetting her more, he tried to learn as much as he could about elves without asking _too_ many questions.

After all was said and done, Harry hadn't missed the glaring similarities between elvin society and that of pureblood wizarding England. Harry wasn't an expert on pureblood society in the first place, but from what he did know, it all sounded suspiciously familiar. The elves seemed to place high priority on tradition, ceremony and blood. Most of these things Harry didn't agree with in the least, but he held his tongue until he and Quenah were in the corridor outside the learning room.

"That was torture," Harry confided in him after they were a good deal away from the room. He looked over his shoulder, half expecting the demon-teacher to be looming over his shoulder to correct his manner of speech and posture.

"Yes, I agree, Your Highness," said Quenah faintly, "Even _I_ did not know some of that, and I have been around for quite some time."

That piqued Harry's interest.

"How old are you anyway?" he asked.

Quenah raised an eyebrow. "Does Your Highness not remember just being told that asking an _Elwý _their age directly is considered bad manners?"

Harry rolled his eyes and said, "So?"

"If you must know, my prince," Quenah sighed, "I am over thirty centuries old."

Harry did the math and was left gaping, eyes wide and mouth open.

"Over _three thousand years old_?" he gasped out.

"It is not _that_ old," said Quenah, clearly offended. Then added a hasty, "Your Highness."

Harry begged to differ. "That's _old. _And you can really stop with all the 'your highness's and 'my prince's, you know."

Quenah pursed his lips slightly and chose not to respond to the second half of his statement. "An _Elwý_'s life-span is bordering on immortal," the elf lectured as they walked, "it has been documented that the longest living elf lived to be nearly nine thousand years old, though most don't make it that far."

Harry felt like his mind was going to melt. Almost nine thousand! He could live to be over eight thousand years old! It was simply too much to take in.

_No stupid, you're human, remember?_ Denial reared its ugly head.

Quenah was still talking. "A lot of _Elwý _die of accidents when they become older, or of a sickness, or in battle."

"Battle?" asked Harry, startled by this.

Quenah nodded. "Yes, Your Highness," (Harry sighed), "all _Elwý _are required to do at least a century's worth of war service for every millennia and a half that they live."

"So you...?"

"Yes, I've done two centuries. However, I did them both back to back, so I still have another fifteen centuries to go before I will be required to do another."

"And when you get older it's easier to die," Harry concluded.

"Yes. Exactly, Your Highness."

"I have a name you know."

"Yes, _Araëmel-arýon_."

Harry nearly groaned. "Not _that_ name." He shook his head in exasperation and refocused on the conversation. "So, this means that you aren't really immortal?"

Quenah's lips quirked. "We are not, no, but I challenge you to find another being with a lifespan as long as ours. In comparison, Your Highness, we are immortal."

"Oh," mumbled Harry, mind flicking to his Care of Magical Creatures class. He didn't think Hagrid had ever mentioned any creatures that lived half as long as the _Elwý_ seemed to. Quenah was right; in comparison, the elves seemed virtually immortal.

They stopped walking in front of another room, this time with no door. Peering through into the brightly lit room, Harry could see lots of large stretches of vellum hanging on walls and rolls of parchment littering the large table in the centre.

"Anyway," he muttered as they entered to find the room empty, "what about royalty? They don't go to war, right?"

"Ah," said Quenah, pursing his lips, "no one knows."

"Huh?"

"No one knows. The royal House guard themselves very jealously. When a monarch steps down, they are normally never seen or heard from again."

Harry stared at the elf, trying to process this. His family didn't...they didn't _off_ themselves did they?

"Ah! Here we go!" Quenah greeted a younger male elf who had walked through the archway, interrupting Harry's thoughts. It was probably just as well, he thought to himself as the new elf bowed to him, but not before giving him a curious once over.

Harry's geography lesson was much more interesting than his etiquette one had been. For one, he could understand his teacher, whose name was Dóretell (Dóre for short in Harry's mind), a lot better than the demon-witch, because he took care to speak slowly and enunciate fully. With Quenah's translating and whispering in his ear, Harry found himself picking up words easily. Secondly, Harry got to learn that the elves' dimension wasn't just home to elves like he'd first assumed, nor did it have mysterious misty borders to the unknown. It was also home to many magical beings - some of which were distant ancestors of ones Harry knew from the wizarding world and others completely new - some of which were allies of the elves and some of which were enemies.

"Our greatest enemy here in this realm is the _Radagu_," Quenah translated softly. "This word means 'beast shifter'. They are a race of beings able to shape-shift into a beast of their choice. The more powerful the shifter, the more beasts he or she can shift into. They are strong and fast and very rabid, but fortunately neither numerous nor organised enough to cause us more trouble than we can handle."

"And why do they fight you?" Harry asked both elves.

"Us," Quenah reminded him lightly. "Why do they fight _us_, Your Highness."

Dóre was slow to answer this, but he seemed to find no shame in the response, _"When we first came to this realm, the land we now occupy used to belong to the Radagu tribes. They were very spread out, barbaric, always fighting amongst themselves. They did not need all the land they held, for they never used it for anything other than hunting and waging war. It was much better cultivated in our hands. We drove them out, into the lands of those you would call Centaurs, and the mountains of the Dragons. It is for this reason that the Centaurs and Dragons do not quite welcome us either. They have long memories."_

Harry thought that they probably had every reason to hate the _Elwý_ if they'd done something like that. "Well, I'm not surprised," he said.

Dóre looked shocked. _"They are nothing more than animals, Your Highness. Brutish beings undeserving of consideration. They have long forgotten why they even fight us, only that they hate us and attack as many of our border towns as possible. Radagu are much shorter lived, with a lifespan of only a few centuries, and they are not very interested in the art of cultivating history."_

Harry shrugged. "Still."

Dóre and Quenah exchanged looks, and then Dóre proclaimed that they would move onto the older ancestors of the Unicorns, who lived to the southwest, on the large flat plains of the Centaurs, or 'Horse Lords' as they were known in this realm. Harry discovered they were twice the size of normal unicorns and that the males were fierce fighters. It was only the females and young who were pure and held the ability to heal any injury.

For each territory outside of _Elwýn, _Dóre taught Harry a brief history of what species lived there, what the state of their politic was like (if they even had any), and a geographical overlay of the lands. He spent more than half their time together (a full two hours) talking about _Elwýn_ and its geography. When Harry came away from the class, he was at least feeling a lot better and more solid in his knowledge of where he actually was and its surroundings.

The _Elwýn_ capitol, Calatharen, his current location, was nestled at the base of the largest mountain range of the explored territories, the Fanyërncthath Mountains, or the _Fanyërncthath_ _Aeglirth_, as it was called in _Elwýnllambe_. On its south side it was bordered by the largest forest, the _Taurin_ _Calathmal_, or the Forest of Golden Light. Harry thought the names a touch fanciful, because unless the trees were made out of gold, they probably shone green just like any other vegetation. There was also no way he was going to keep that many long and ridiculous sounding names straight in his head, so he was forced to write them all down with Quenah's help. Now the elder elf carried a rolled up scroll of Harry's scribbled notes with him.

However, he also walked away from the room feeling heavy. Everything that Dóre had taught him only served to cement his belief that the _Elwý _were hypocritical, unkind, and supremacists.

"What next?" he asked Quenah reluctantly.

"Lunch!" exclaimed the elf happily.

Harry had noticed that after he had asked Quenah not to call him by his title all the time, he had become a little less formal and more open. At least something was going right.

"Also," said Quenah, "we can continue your grammar lessons. We'll take lunch in your room."

"Okay," Harry acquiesced.

On the way back to the tower, Quenah made Harry repeat all the new words he'd learned and corrected his pronunciation as best he could. When they reached the guards at the doors to the royal quarters, the elf told one of the guards to have lunch brought to Harry's room, and then they went through.

Being back in his room made Harry feel much more comfortable. In here there were no wide-eyed stares or muted whisperings as he passed, just him and Quenah.

"Well, let's start then, shall we, Your Highness?" Quenah took a seat and clasped his hands.

Harry got out his notes, quill and ink, and they set to work.

* * *

Harry had never been outside the palace yet, but apparently in order to get to where they practised sword-play, archery, and kept the horses, one had to descend to the third and largest palace building, which lay sprawled out across a large expanse of flat ground at the edge of the forest. This, Quenah informed Harry, usually took about half an hour to walk. However, because Harry was important, he got to have special privileges, one of which included the use of the transportation towers for trivial matters such as getting to the lower palace in record time.

Harry knew about the transportation tower in this part of the palace because it was the means by which he had arrived in this dimension, but he hadn't known there was one in each section of the palace. On the walk over to the one they were going to use to get to the third tower, Harry asked Quenah about them.

He learned that they were specially designed towers built with runic circles and spelled stones in order to enable an elf with the proper knowledge to travel almost anywhere. It was, of course, easier to use them as pathways between another transportation tower, but if an elf was skilled enough they could open up a circle in any location. Unless, Quenah told Harry, the area had been warded against transportation circles (for instance, anywhere inside the palace grounds that wasn't a transportation tower itself) anywhere was fair game. Unfortunately, the elf lamented to his student, most any elf with money, and a lot of their neighbouring nations, had erected barriers of their own, so the transportation circles could only really be used as a convenient means of travel and not invasion or assassination. Harry was privately glad for this, because that sounded simply awful.

The transportation circles reminded him of apparition. Able to transport you anywhere with enough power and know-how, but also capable of being warded against. He silently wondered if transportation circles could splinch you as well, and almost laughed at the image of a helpless, splinched elf standing in line at St. Mungo's to get fixed.

At the transportation tower, there were two guards blocking the entrance that Harry hadn't noticed the day before. Quenah exchanged a few words with them and gestured to Harry. The elves nodded and stepped to the side, allowing them through the doors and into the room. One of them followed them in.

"She's going to do the spell for us," said Quenah in explanation.

They stepped into the centre of the room, into the inlaid circle, and this time Harry closed his eyes when the chanting started, already knowing that the resulting light would blind him otherwise.

The chanting reached a crescendo, he saw the light flash behind his eyelids, and then there was a strange sense of vertigo. Harry opened his eyes and saw that they were in almost an exact replica of the previous room, except the colours were a little different, as well as the position of the light and shadows.

"_Thank you,_" he told the elf who'd done the spell as they exited the room. Harry thought he might have startled her, because she blinked at him curiously and then craned her neck for a better view as they passed out of sight.

This time, as they walked the corridors and went down stairs, not as many elves stared at Harry. He thought perhaps that the news hadn't travelled as far down as the third palace yet, and that the elves simply assumed he was a child (due to his short height) because he was wearing regular elvin clothes. A few did do a double take however, and Harry had no doubt that by the end of the day, every elf would know there was a human on the premises.

Oh well, he supposed they'd have to get used to it. He _was_ supposed to be their prince, after all. The thought still sent shivers down his spine. It was still so unreal. But considering all the strange things that had happened to Harry throughout his life, he wasn't surprised he was taking the news with minimal mental break downs and screaming fits. He was quite used to handling life-changing news by now. Besides, he reminded himself, it wasn't like it was actually _true_. He still thought there must have been some sort of mistake.

Harry turned his attention back to their surroundings as, for the first time in a couple days, he stepped outside. They exited through a side door and into what looked like a courtyard. Quenah obviously knew where he was going, because he led Harry across the grass covered courtyard with its stone benches and strange, pale brown trees with light yellow leaves. There was an exit in one corner and a short corridor of arches later and they were stepping fully outside the palace. In the distance Harry could see the beginnings of a large forest and before that a large field. However, Quenah directed them towards what looked to be a stable, or perhaps barracks.

It was both, Harry soon discovered. The stables and barracks were connected to each other and encircled almost half of the third palace on the outside, where it would be most vulnerable to attack - not, Quenah told him, that the palace had ever been attacked. Its wards and defenses on the outskirts of the forest were far too strong. The palace lay right in the centre of _Elwýn_ as well, so any attackers would have to get through any number of towns before they ever reached the capital.

They entered the training yards through the stables. Quenah told Harry to keep an eye out for a tall elf man with blond hair, probably wearing some sort of armour or carrying a sword, and missing his left ear.

"He lost it in battle," Quenah said, correctly interpreting Harry's startled look.

Harry wondered if this elf not only resembled Moody, but acted like him too.

They didn't have to look far. They found the elf in question near the joining of the stables to the barracks. He was bellowing loudly at some poor underling and still sounding quite fierce, despite the beauty of his language. Harry was about to step forward and turn the elf's ire away from the boy (who looked around his age, the first elf child Harry had seen) onto himself, but Quenah held him back, telling him not to interfere.

Harry hovered on the sidelines for a moment or too, hesitant, until he was distracted by a whinny. Most of the horses were out in the paddock, but this one was still in its stall. He stepped forward for a closer look.

It was a beautiful beast, easily rivalling the Headmistress of Beauxbaton's flying horses in splendour and grace.

"Hi," he whispered, getting close enough to pet the curious head peeking over its stall door.

"_Hm, what's this?_" said a loud voice behind Harry.

Harry whirled around, feeling automatically guilty despite having not done anything wrong. There was an elf looming over him, the same one that had been just moments ago shouting at the boy. Harry gulped.

"_A human?_" The elf leaned down to peer at Harry, and never before had Harry truly felt his lack of height than right that second.

Still, at least he understood what was being said to him. He chanced a glance at Quenah, but the elf was leaving him to his own devices, no doubt wishing him to practise his language skills.

"_Well?_" barked the imposing elf, who Harry belatedly realised was his teacher because he was clearly missing his left ear.

He cleared his throat. "_I am, _uh_, Harry._"

The elf threw back his head and laughed. Harry had no idea what was so funny.

"_This is your new student,_" Quenah offered helpfully, when the chuckles died down.

"_I'm teaching _humans_ now?_" asked the elf, and tones of disgust could be heard. _"Humans that speak as if they were above me?"_

Harry only understood enough of that to know he should be offended, but he still didn't know what had made the elf laugh.

"_He is above you,_" Quenah said stiffly. "_This is Araëmel-aryón_."

_'Above'_ Harry mouthed to himself, trying to figure out what that meant. The word was similar to something his etiquette teacher had mentioned, but he wasn't sure if he was guessing right. 'Above', perhaps, as in a higher rank?

"_Araëmel-aryón is human?_" the elf deadpanned, shooting Harry a scathing glance.

"_Absolutely not!_" Quenah exclaimed. "_Of course not, there's just been a bit of a skin problem._"

Harry heard the oft-repeated word of "skin" and understood that they still thought he wasn't really human. He knew, of course, that he really was. He was born this way, he grew up this way, thus he was human. It made perfect sense to him.

But either way, Harry's teacher changed his scowl to a smirk and looked Harry over with a critical eye. He said something clearly insulting about Harry because Quenah blushed and choked.

_"H-how dare you-" _Quenah spluttered.

The elf drew himself up. _"I am the teacher, he is my student, prince or not. I am Melcacrist the Second, and Their Majesties know that they will find no one better than I." _He whirled on Harry. "_Come._"

Harry, understanding at least that much, and appreciating the elf's straightforwardness, followed him obediently.

The elf stalked into a room (for once what Harry considered a proper room, meaning that there were no large, breezy windows) and emerged some seconds later with an armful of gear which he immediately dumped on his student. Harry had to fumble to keep hold of it all, but didn't mind, feeling the small comfort of familiarity through the rough treatment.

As they walked through the barracks (and as curious elvin heads popped out of rooms to watch with wide eyes), Harry's teacher introduced himself and laid down some rules.

_"My name is Master Melcacrist,"_ he began. _"That does not mean Melcacrist, Melca, or 'excuse me' as I have sometimes been addressed. It means Master Melcacrist or 'sir', is that clear?"_

Then Melcacrist proceeded to scowl at Harry as he had to wait for Quenah to hurriedly translate the speech. As soon as the elf was done, Harry rapidly nodded his head and said, "_Yes sir!_"

Melcacrist seemed pleased by this and went on speaking_. "Furthermore, I don't care if you're the crown prince of the world. When it comes to war and battles, I'm the best teacher they have, so I want no pussy-footing around. While you are with me, you'll be the one obeying me, not the other way around."_

After this was translated, although Harry got the main gist of it by the elf's tone alone, he again said, "_Yes, sir,_" as respectfully as possible.

"_Good_."

They stopped again at another room for two wooden practise swords, which Harry was also forced to carry, but not before he was made to change into what he had previously been carrying. This turned out to be a less colourful version of the clothes that Melcacrist was wearing. He also put on a much tougher, thicker leather jerkin and two leather arm guards.

Quenah hovered over his shoulder the whole time, clearly upset by the disrespect his prince was receiving, but obviously knowing Melcacrist's temperament and reputation, so saying nothing. Harry was grateful, well aware that if his tutor said anything to rile the elf up, it could result in it being taken out on him.

They reached a practise ring which was fenced off and Melcacrist had Harry lean the swords against a post before having him stand in the middle of the ring across from him. Harry began to get nervous. Didn't they need the swords to practise?

Apparently, Melcacrist had other ideas. He started off the lesson with a question and answer session which kept Quenah working overtime with the back and forth translations.

"Have you had any previous fighting experience at all?" his teacher asked.

Harry frowned. "What kind of fighting experience?"

Melcacrist scowled. "Anything. Brawling, dodging, duelling."

"Um, yeah, pretty much all three." Harry replied, racking his brain for instances.

"Explain," came Melcacrist's command.

"Well, I've sort of brawled before. You mean punching and stuff, right? I have a school rival who I get into fights with and I sort of almost wrestled a troll once." Suddenly Harry almost laughed, realising the complete irony of that last statement. It looked like the Weasley twins _had_ been right, after all - wrestling trolls was all part of the Hogwarts experience after all. "And I've have plenty of practise dodging," he continued, suppressing his previous desire to chuckle, "since my cousin Dudley used to have a game he called 'Harry hunting'." Harry received two blank stares at this, so he had to elaborate. "Er, he and his gang would chase after me and if they caught me they would beat me up. Anyway, and I've had plenty practise duelling before." He pulled out his wand from where he'd slipped it through the waistband of his pants.

Melcacrist looked at it in astonishment, although Quenah was still busy muttering the phrase "Harry hunting" incredulously under his breath.

"Duelling with a _stick_?" Melcacrist looked like he wanted to laugh.

"It's a wand!" exclaimed Harry hotly, offended.

"A wand."

"Yes! What else could you have meant by duelling?" Harry waved his wand around exaggeratedly, emphasising his point.

"Swords," said Melcacrist shortly, "and be respectful!"

After this was translated, Harry muttered a sheepish, "_Sorry, sir_."

The elf stared at him for a few moments, clearly assessing him with his gaze. Harry waited patiently, not wanting to aggravate him further by saying something he wasn't supposed to.

"Explain this wand duelling to me," Melcacrist finally demanded.

"Um, well, you sort of stand across from each other, or in a battle, across from your enemy, and shoot spells at each other, dodge them, block them, that sort of thing," he explained awkwardly.

Melcacrist's eyebrows rose. "You've been in battles?"

Blushing, Harry nodded.

"Hmm, show me one of these 'spells' of yours. I assume it is human magic?" Melcacrist waved his hand off to the side.

Harry glanced at the empty patch of dirt, not sure what to do. He glanced at Quenah for help, but the elf had no clue either. What spell could Harry do on an empty patch of dirt? And what about the Ministry - would they be able to detect him? He didn't think so, he was in another dimension after all, and if they Ministry knew it existed, Harry would have learnt about the elves a long time ago. He figured he was safe from Griselda Marchbanks and the Improper Use of Magic Department.

Finally, he had an idea. He flicked his wand in the direction of the wooden swords and said a firm, "_Accio sword_."

One of the wooden swords lifted off the ground and came zooming towards him. He caught it in his left hand by the hilt and turned back to his teacher. The elf was watching him calculatingly.

"Put it back," he ordered.

Shrugging, Harry banished the sword back to its place and stuck his wand back into his waistband.

"Have you had _any_ experience with swords?" Melcacrist asked.

Harry hesitated, remembering the incident with the basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Spit it out!" Melcacrist demanded, although Quenah's translation was a lot more respectful, which earned him a glare.

"Well, once I used this sword to kill a basilisk," he told them, although it probably didn't count as real sword fighting.

When the two elve's faces began to drain of colour and pale rapidly, Harry reckoned he probably shouldn't have said that. Melcacrist didn't even need a translation to understand what Harry had said, the basilisk being a universally deadly and hated serpent.

"Y-you did _what_?" Quenah practically screeched.

Harry's eyes widened. "I'm sorry! It was going to kill me and I had to save my friend!"

"You killed it with just a sword?" Melcacrist asked faintly, and it took a few tries for Quenah to get his question across.

"Yeah, but," Harry hastened to reassure them that he hadn't killed it in some super hero fit of strength, "it got me in the arm with one of its fangs. Here, I have the scar to prove it." He rolled up his sleeve and displayed the shiny whitish patch of skin in his forearm.

Both elves gaped at him some more and Harry cursed his big mouth and inability to say the right things.

"How are you not _dead_?" Quenah gasped. "Not even an _Elwý_ can survive a basilisk's venom!"

But of course, Harry thought, he had stupidly forgotten that a basilisk's venom was deadly. Of course they would be wondering how he wasn't dead.

"It was Fawkes. He's a phoenix. He cried on my wound and it healed."

The two elves calmed down considerably at this information, but they still looked either gob-smacked or heartily impressed.

"Still," mussed Melcacrist as Quenah translated, "you can't be more than sixteen years old. That is impressive for a sixteen year old."

"I was twelve," Harry corrected without thinking.

"Why am I not surprised," said Quenah weakly. He then reluctantly explained to a curious sword master. Melcacrist was silent for a minute as he stopped to digest everything Harry had stupidly revealed.

"I think," he finally smirked, "I will like working with you, Your Highness."

Harry started at the show of respect, but then grinned slightly. Maybe revealing all he had, had been a good idea. Now his teacher respected him and would hopefully go easier on him.

But that was not to be. Evidently, respect in Master Melcacrist's book meant being twice as hard as he would have been before and acting like an all around slave driver. By the end of Harry's preliminary sword lesson, he was sweating buckets, had several brand new bruises, and his muscles were aching so hard from blocking sword swings that they felt like they were about to drop off.

"Now," said Melcacrist cheerfully as Harry collapsed on the ground, "we'll move onto horse riding next to give your arms a rest before archery."

Harry groaned.

* * *

_So, yes, it's been a while. I plead final year of university stress, workload, and yet more computer problems. Kernal panics anyone? Well, I've got an appointment at an Apple store to fix **THAT** and I swear to all that is holy that if **one** more thing goes wrong, I'm demanding a new laptop. **Honestly**. This is ridiculous. It's not normal to spend 15 minutes trying to restart your computer because not even the power button is responding! _

_Moving on, so, there's quite a bit of change midway for this chapter. Mostly, I got a bit more creative with the 'background' information for this realm. I wanted a more comprehensive history for the elves and the other species that live in the lands surrounding Elwyn. Because I want this world to be real, rather than some half-baked attempt at creating an excuse for Harry to be a)an elf and b)a prince XD_

_So, let me know what you think of the changes. I say this every time, but if you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask them in a review or drop me a PM. I've had some really helpful reviews lately, so thanks a lot to those of you who've been pointing out small mistakes my sister and I have overlooked. I do intend to correct these, but as they're not major faults, they're not as high on my priority list as getting the next chapters out...ya know, when I actually have time to sit down and do something personal and that's not related to school. Egads. _

_**Question**: (I only got one response last time, so I'm asking again) How many of you would be interested in me putting up a **map of Elwyn** (and its surrounding territories), including names of places, cities, etc...and perhaps an accompanying word document with descriptions? Depending on the interest level, I'll shift priorities around to see how quickly I can get that out. I've got it partially complete right now simply because it was helpful for me when re-writing, but bits of it that don't really show up in the story are left blank. I can fill in those gaps and put it online if you guys want, but it's up to you, so let me know. _

_Cheers,_

_xoxRia_

_Posted: 21/02/11  
_


	5. Skins

_Ex Sanguis Version 2.0 chapter changes: grammar, syntax, descriptive elements (minor scene editing)_

* * *

**Chapter 5: Skins**

Harry spent a week in the same exact routine as his first day and was making slow but steady progress becoming friends with Quenah, who, didn't seem to mind Harry's age despite the age difference. While he still had trouble convincing the older elf that formality was not necessary between friends, Quenah wasn't a complete spoil sport. He had also managed to keep up a friendly relationship with two of his teachers (the evil etiquette teacher did _not_ count) which he counted as a plus.

However, apart from the first day, Harry hadn't seen hide nor hair of his grandparents the whole week. They must be busy, he told himself. Yet a small part of him wondered if he just wasn't worth the time or effort to see.

So in response he threw himself into learning the language. He was picking up vocabulary fast, and although his speaking abilities still left much to be desired, his listening comprehension had improved in leaps and bounds that amazed him - it simply shouldn't have been possible.

Unfortunately, his muscles hadn't stopped hurting since his first lesson with Melcacrist (Harry rather thought he had died and gone to hell). As much as he had come to respect the sword master, Melcacrist was a certified torture specialist who could give Bellatrix Lestrange a run for her money. Harry was certain that the fact that he could barely walk without wincing was a carefully calculated move on Melcacrist's part.

Quenah told him he was being paranoid.

Harry begged to differ, and then informed his tutor of all the times he _should_ have been paranoid and wasn't.

Quenah still thought he was being ridiculous, but no longer brought the subject up quite so much.

The second downside to all of Harry's lessons was that he was forced to move about the palace every day - and every day he was sighted by more and more elves, who had begun to frequent the corridors when they knew Harry would be in them between lessons. They would point and gossip and gape in wonder (and perhaps a bit of fear) at the well-dressed human who was taking lessons from some of the most well-renown masters in the palace.

By now, Harry had figured out that the king and queen hadn't informed their subjects about what was going on, and had left the gossip to pure hearsay and speculation. Quenah confirmed this.

Harry wasn't sure exactly what this withholding of information was supposed to achieve, but Quenah didn't seem bothered by the knowledge that his king and queen felt justified in keeping secrets from the public. He knew that monarchies were a lot different from democracies, but still thought the covertness a bit out of line.

One last thing that Harry mourned in particular was the elvin lack of belief in 'weekends'. Harry had tried to explain the concept to an extremely amused Melcacrist, only to be laughed at seconds later and ordered to run five laps around the edge of the training area. Elves, apparently, worked every day of every week of every year (unless there was a royal celebration).

Harry thought this sucked, to put it plainly.

And yet, perhaps there _was_ a god, he thought when he woke up on the eighth day, fully prepared to get up and ready for lessons. Not soon after Harry had embraced the land of the living once more, Quenah entered his room and told him he could go back to sleep because he had no lessons that day.

Harry stared.

"What?" he asked, thinking he'd misheard.

"You have no lessons today," said Quenah cheerfully. "And please don't forget to speak to me in _Elwýnllambe_ if you can."

Harry grumbled. He was rubbish at speaking and felt no need to further embarrass himself when he didn't have to.

Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed, determined to get up anyway and have a very long soak in the tub.

"You're still getting up?" Quenah asked, surprised.

"Yeah," yawned Harry, "I'm going to try and soak off some of the stiffness. Then maybe I'll go down to the stables and practice a bit anyway."

"I'm impressed, Your Highness," his tutor teased, "your dedication is heart warming."

Harry shot him an irritated look over his shoulder while he grabbed a clean outfit from his new elvin made trunk. It was the darker green one today.

"You know very well that I'm only doing it because Melcacrist told me I need to practice every day or my muscles will feel even worse. I need to stretch at the very least." He threw over his shoulder as he ducked into the bathroom.

"Shall I have breakfast brought up?" came the amused voice.

"Yeah, thanks!" Harry called back.

"_Elwýnllambe_, _Araëmel-arýon_, use _Elwýnllambe!_" was the exasperated reply.

"Maybe when you start calling me Harry, I'll consider it," Harry shouted over the roar of the water as it began to spurt out of the tap.

He undressed, waiting for Quenah's reply.

A muted, "And you know I can't do that," was his response.

Rolling his eyes, Harry called, "And _you_ know that no one's going to find out if you only do it in private." 'No one', of course, being their exalted majesties. They insisted that Harry be called Araëmel and that 'Harry' was neither appropriate for a prince, nor the least bit decent sounding.

Or, according to Quenah they did. Harry didn't know for sure.

When no response was forthcoming after a few seconds, he assumed that the older elf had left. Shrugging, Harry slipped into the still filling tub, sighing in relief when his muscles relaxed a tad. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, blocking out the morning light.

He almost fell back asleep like that, but was jerked out of his dazed state when he felt the water reach his neck. He was forced to move to turn it off to prevent the tub from overflowing.

He dozed in the bath until he heard Quenah come back. Then he quickly scrubbed himself clean and got out of the tub; draining the water, getting dressed, and cleaning his teeth as best as he could with the strange mouthwash _Elwý_ liked to use.

His tutor was already half way through breakfast when he emerged. Harry sat down and helped himself, wincing when he felt his shoulder protest when he tried to reach across the table for the bread. Quenah passed him the food instead.

"Thanks," mumbled Harry.

"_Elwýnllambe_," Quenah admonished.

Harry rolled his eyes. "_Thanks_," he repeated.

Quenah nodded his satisfaction and sipped something from his crystal goblet. Harry chewed a piece of bread and thought. He really had no idea why he had the day off. Was it a special day? A break that he would get every week? He didn't think so, not going by Melcacrist's reaction the other day.

"So, why do I have the day off?" he finally asked, swallowing his mouthful and washing it down with a gulp of sweet water.

"Their Majesties needed you to be able to answer a summons at any time today," Quenah replied.

"Huh?" Harry set down his goblet, frowning. "But what does that have to do with not having lessons?"

Quenah lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, "I believe it was simply easier to cancel lessons."

"So I'm going to be summoned at some point today?" Harry asked, curiosity rearing its head.

Quenah nodded.

"Then maybe I should stay in this part of the castle today," Harry mused, "Wouldn't want to miss it."

"That would be best," Quenah agreed. "Shall we continue our language lessons then, Your Highness?"

Harry groaned.

"Perhaps we should start on the written word today as well," Quenah thought out loud.

Harry felt his interest perk up. An elvin writing system? That would be kind of cool - it would be like a secret code.

"There's a writing system?" he asked.

"Of course, did you think we wrote using the Latin alphabet, my prince? Hardly. I simply used that for your benefit," Quenah explained. "Today, I think we should start on _Elwýntencelle_ and expand your grammatical knowledge. Did you memorise that last set of conjugations I gave you?"

Harry looked anywhere but at his teacher. "Er...maybe?"

"That's a no," said Quenah dryly.

Harry ducked his head and stared at his plate guiltily. He shouldn't even be feeling guilty in the first place. It wasn't like he had any extra time these days to do much of anything besides lessons.

"How will you ever improve if you do not do the exercises I set you?" Quenah added.

Harry shrugged lightly, eyes still on his plate. He used his fingers to pick a few crumbs from the corner and reveal the etched crystal more clearly. The plate was actually quite beautiful. Nearly everything crafted by elvin hands was.

"Araëmel-_arýon_."

Harry squinted at the etchings, wondering if they used magic or hand tools to carve such fine lines.

"Araëmel_._"

Harry ignored the voice. Honestly, it wasn't _that hard_ to call him _Harry_ for once.

"_Araëmel_."

Quenah was growing frustrated. Harry continued to pretend to stare at his plate and his food. He fiddled with some more crumbs, rubbing them between his fingers as if they were the most fascinating things he'd seen in his life.

"Fine! Harry!"

Harry looked up. "Yes?" he asked innocently, as if he hadn't just been ignoring the elf for the past minute.

Quenah's eye almost looked like it was twitching. Harry watched in morbid fascination.

"Please get your notes," Quenah finally said, clearly having regained his composure.

Harry stood up. "Okay, okay."

The summons came that afternoon, but for once Harry found he was reluctant to go. The elvin writing system, _Elwýntencelle_, was something he found himself more interested in than he had expected. He wondered if Ancient Runes was similar to this and thought himself rather stupid for not having taken it in third year. Divination just couldn't compare, no matter how well it tested his creative writing talents.

So he reluctantly put down his quill and stood while the elf sent to get him waited patiently by the door.

"Let's not keep Their Majesties waiting, shall we?" Quenah said, putting down his own pen and ushering Harry to the door.

The elf guide silently led them to a part of the castle where Harry had never been before. It was deep in the bowels of the palace, underground, and they spent an agonising fifteen minutes simply climbing down staircases. For all the laudable abilities of the elves, they clearly had yet to invent moving staircases or lifts.

Quenah quizzed him the whole way down on proper forms of address, greetings, farewells, random polite phrases, and bows, among other things. He continued his lecture even when the shining white stone walls turned dark grey and porous. It was unexplored territory for Harry, who found his interest peaked, but Quenah babbled on obliviously.

The elf appeared to be as nervous as Harry was becoming. This was evidenced by the occasional eye flicker or hand clenching. The stark contrast between the gleaming palace and the deep shadows cast by the lamps reminded Harry of a dungeon. Dungeons reminded him of Snape, and anything that reminded him of Snape was never a good thing.

Eventually, even Quenah fell into silence and stopped trying to coach Harry on his beloved subject. Instead, the silence became oppressive, and he wished Quenah _would_ talk just to alleviate some of the building tension as they descended.

Finally, Harry could take the silence no longer.

"Where are we going?" he asked Quenah in a whisper.

"I'm not sure, Your Highness," Quenah also whispered. "I was never privileged enough to have the opportunity to visit the...hmm, there is no English word for it. Like a basement or a dungeon, I suppose. The _cardhuin_."

"The what? What's down here then?"

Quenah shook his head lightly, hair floating back into place like magic. "I can only repeat rumours, my prince. Important magical research. Experiments. Documents privy only to Their Majesties."

_Like the Department of Mysteries_, thought Harry wryly.

He snuck a glance at their guide, but either the elf didn't understand English or he was playing mute. He racked his brain for the words to ask his question in _Elwýnllambe. _

Finally he spoke. "_Where are we go?"_ Harry winced, realising even as the words came out of his mouth, that he'd made a mistake. Oh well.

The elf leading them paused for second on a step and looked back up at them. He gave what Harry's etiquette teacher would call a 'bow of respect towards a superior of highest rank before the commencement of conversation' and said something in quick _Elwýnllambe_ which Harry didn't catch. He immediately turned to Quenah for a translation. Their guide started walking again and they too followed him down the endless staircase.

"He said we're going to the potions chambers and the archives," Quenah whispered to Harry.

Harry nodded. "Oh." Then, "Wait, why?"

Quenah shrugged uncomfortably - a bad habit he'd picked up from Harry - but Harry sensed that he knew more than he was letting on. He wanted to press the matter, but was reluctant to make the atmosphere tenser. Hopefully he would find out when they got there.

The potions chambers and the archives (archives of what? Harry wondered) were rather deep underground. Quenah did helpfully explain that it was most likely because the layers of natural rock bed kept the magical experimentation separate from the rest of the palace.

Eventually, the stairs ended and fanned out into a much more roughly carved passageway with balls of light floating at intervals along the walls. They followed their guide down a series of shadowy twists and turns and Harry felt nervous excitement swell in his chest. It was a familiar feeling, one he got before an adventure or when he was about to do something daring. He wondered what on earth his grandparents wanted with him down here.

It was all a mite suspicious.

They finally arrived at a dark wooden door, and the elf leading them knocked on the wood and waited. A few seconds later the door swung open and they were ushered in.

Harry looked around in curiosity, eager to see what kind of secrets they were hiding down here. To his surprise, it wasn't anything overly special.

The room was divided into two parts. In the section farthest from the door sat rows of cauldrons ranging from large to small. These cauldrons were shaped differently from wizarding ones, more like large mixing bowls made out of silver, bronze, and in some cases, crystal. On the side closest to the door, a small group of elves sat around a table with large rolls of parchment spread out before them. Bookcases filled with scrolls lined the walls around them and they were all busy checking things over with their pens and notes.

Harry turned his head slightly and caught sight of the king and queen in seemingly deep discussion with one of the elves doing research. He looked very old, which left Harry wondering just how old he really was.

The king acknowledged them first, hand reaching out to gesture them over. Harry felt a soft breeze caress his cheek and tug gently at his clothes and hair. When they approached close enough to intrude upon the conversation, the queen paused and turned to regard her grandson with a sharp smile.

Harry smiled hesitantly back, trying to remember his formal greetings. He sketched a bow and muttered the only phrase that popped into his head. Straightening, he caught the small flutter of approval in his grandmother's expression. She turned back to the elderly elf and gestured to Harry.

"_This is my grandson,_" she said.

The elf swept Harry a bow, saying one of the greetings that Harry had forgotten the meaning of, but which he recognised. He fidgeted, unsure of what to do, but thankfully the elf didn't seem to expect anything in return because he turned back to the Queen and said, "_If Your Graciousness will permit me?"_

The queen inclined her head, and said something Harry couldn't decipher.

The elf nodded back and turned back to Harry. "_If you'll follow me, Your Highness._"

Hesitantly, Harry followed the elder to the other side of the room, sending a questioning glance over his shoulder at Quenah. His tutor looked equally uncertain, but also somewhat guilty. Harry narrowed his eyes in speculation, wondering just what it was that Quenah knew that he didn't. He decided that once this meeting was over, he and the elf were going to have a very long chat.

Harry hadn't noticed it before, but on the floor of the lab area, there was a large, inlaid design. He studied it, wondering what it was used for - or if it was just decoration. Somehow he didn't think so. Whenever he had encountered strange concentric patterns in floors in the _Elwý_ palace, he always found they liked to do strange things, and often at the most inopportune moments.

The elderly elf stopped by one of the larger silver cauldrons and picked up a roll of parchment that was lying next to it. Harry craned his neck to get a good view, but found to his displeasure that the whole thing was written in _Elwýntencelle_. He could only recognise a few of the symbols.

_Bollocks,_ thought Harry crossly. Was no one going to tell him what was going on?

The old, silver-haired elf called over a few more of his colleagues and they all crowded around the scroll, glancing at Harry from time to time. Harry thought that it was all rather pointless if all they were going to do was let him stand there and watch them discuss something in a language he couldn't understand. He felt the language barrier quite acutely at that moment - what he wouldn't give to understand what was going on!

Finally, after much discussing of things that Harry couldn't work out, the head researcher made him stand next to the big cauldron. Poking and prodding commenced which didn't actually involve any physical touching, after which they had him hold one of his arms over the cauldron.

Harry stood there, holding his arm up and feeling like a right fool, when suddenly one of the elves whipped out a dagger. Harry was so startled by its sudden appearance that he didn't even try to move out of the way when the strange air pressure seized his arm and held it still. The elf bowed low over his arm, murmuring a rather long-winded apology, and as Harry looked on, gaping, pierced the middle of his palm with the point of the dagger.

"Hey!" he exclaimed. "Ow!" He tried jerking his arm back, but it was being firmly held by one of the elvin researchers.

They let his wound bleed until his palm held a small pool of crimson liquid, and then suddenly his hand was forced to turn over and the blood dripped into whatever mixture was in the cauldron.

Finally, Harry's hand was released and he snatched it back, cradling it to his chest and staring at the researchers in shock. He glanced behind him to see if anyone was protesting, but the royal couple seemed to be watching him with satisfaction.

_What the…? _Harry thought, now thoroughly confused.

He wasn't given any time to think. The old elf herded Harry over to another elf, this one holding something that looked suspiciously like a tape measure. He experienced an extreme sense of déjà vu when the woman began to measure him in every which way. It was just like the time he'd bought his wand, the only difference being that this tape measure wasn't doing anything on its own.

He was beginning to get incredibly irritated with the _Elwý_ measuring him, scowling heavily as she took measurements and wrote them down. Before he could voice his displeasure, she stopped at a few words from the head researcher. The elf woman hurried off and Harry was left standing there, watching the older being warily. In his hands the elf was carrying a crystal goblet full of a strange green-ish liquid. It wasn't bubbling or oozing like a lot of Snape's potions did, but that didn't mean it wouldn't be unpleasant.

He was proffered the goblet.

Harry stared. They didn't expect him to _drink_ that did they? He wasn't stupid. Even if they _were_ under orders from the king and queen, he wasn't about to drink something he had no knowledge of. It was one of the Golden Rules of Potions - never drink anything whose properties you have no knowledge of. Snape would never let him live it down if he simply acquiesced like a naive first year and drank an unknown potion in an unknown place.

So Harry wrinkled his nose and shook his head.

The Researcher pursed his lips and kept holding out the goblet.

"_You must drink it, Your Highness,_" he insisted.

"_No,_" Harry replied adamantly, still refusing to take it, "_I not know what_," he pointed at the goblet, "_is that._" Harry grimaced, knowing instinctively that he'd botched his grammar badly. To his credit, the head researcher pretended not to notice.

The elf woman from earlier returned, carrying a large roll of vellum which she spread out on the wooden surface of the table, between the two cauldrons they were standing near. She smoothed it out and somehow stopped it from curling, before standing back and looking at Harry expectantly.

"_Araëmel-aryón, please_," the elderly elf was asking Harry with a funny bow.

Harry glanced over to the far side of the room where his grandfather managed to catch his eye and give him a stern frown of displeasure. The king nodded his head at the researcher and Harry got the message - do as he tells you, or I will be most displeased.

Sighing, he reluctantly accepted the potion-that-did-merlin-knew-what and held it at a distance, studying it. He brought it up to his face to sniff it, but only smelt the copper tang of metal, and the scent of herbs. A quick glance at those around him and he knew their patience was wearing thin, so, with a grimace, and wondering if he ought to win an Idiot-of-the-Year award, Harry set the goblet to his lips and gulped down the potion as fast as he could.

Surprisingly, it didn't taste half as bad as he had been expecting. He wondered if Snape made his taste bad on purpose. Or maybe elvin potions used different ingredients.

Harry was more inclined towards the former.

He gave the goblet back to the elderly elf, anxiously waiting for something to happen, but nothing did.

He stood there perhaps a minute, tensing himself for pain or odd happenings, but he felt nothing. Just a slightly full feeling in his stomach which went away rather quickly.

Finally, after perhaps two minutes, the head researcher asked Harry to place his bloodied hand at the top of the blank sheet of vellum and smear blood down the centre of it. At least, that's what Harry thought he said. He may have been better at comprehending than he let on, but eventually a lack of vocabulary would win out.

Hesitating, he was rewarded by an amusing show of hand miming and over-exaggerated lip movements. Still not sure if he knew what he was supposed to be doing, he placed his sluggishly bleeding palm on the vellum and did as directed. A small, broken smear of red remained on the paper when he lifted his hand away. Harry stared at it, waiting for something spectacular to happen.

Again, nothing did. He wondered if this was all a joke, or some obscure experiment that they weren't sure would work.

But no, the elf woman gathered up the sheet carefully and carried it over to a section of inlaid floor. This part of the design was a subset of the larger mosaic, which could obviously serve as a standalone. Harry hung back as the woman placed the vellum down in the middle of the circle and stepped back. She raised a hand and began making strange movements with her hands and fingers, almost like she was miming something. It wasn't until the first faintly glowing image appeared hanging in the air, that Harry realised what she was doing - a spell.

From what he had seen of _Elwý_ magic so far, it was quite different from the wizarding kind. First of all, they didn't use wands, only their hands.

Secondly, all magic seemed based on circles. Whether that be a circular hand movement, something impromptu drawn using crushed stone powder, or a permanent fixture in the floor - anything worked just fine. They also had some sort of strange, unspoken power over, well - air, would be Harry's best guess. He had seen elves touch him without actually doing so, and move things without touching them as well. Maybe it was a form of telekinesis?

Finally, Harry had just learnt that they used potions magic as well - and that whatever the spellcaster was doing was causing strange glowing symbols to appear in the air.

The symbols stopped appearing and the woman made a circular motion with two fingers. The faintly glowing images floated over to the vellum and settled down into it. The sheet began to glow softly - Harry could vaguely make out that his smear of blood was contorting and growing on it, though he felt rather cheated when he saw that his blood had formed words across the page - in _Elwýntencelle. _

Grumbling at the unfairness of it all, he trailed after the researchers back up to the library part of the room. He peeled off to stand next to Quenah while the rest of the elves, including the king and queen, huddled around the paper and talked in whispers.

"All right, Quenah," Harry declared softly, "_What_ is going on?"

Quenah glanced at him guiltily. "Well…"

"Look! Look at this!" He shoved his bloodied hand under the elf's nose and watched him wince in satisfaction.

"I don't know for sure," Quenah stalled.

"Fine," said Harry shortly, "what do you _think_ is going on then?"

Quenah glanced at the group of researching elves and sighed. "I think they're experimenting on finding a way to remove your skin, my prince."

Harry blinked. At first he didn't understand - and a number of gruesome scenarios came to mind - then, he remembered that 'skin' was a term the elves used when referring to false bodies made by potions and spells and he paled. They were trying to change his _species_?

"What?" Harry croaked. "B-but…"

Quenah looked at him sympathetically. "I know you believe yourself to be human and don't wish for that to change, but I know their majesties will try their hardest to get rid of your skin."

Harry swallowed heavily. "But if I was born a human, because my parents were human when they were in the wizarding world, then that wouldn't change, right?"

Quenah hesitated before speaking. "Do you know for certain that you were born as a human?"

"What?" Harry started.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm no expert, Your Highness," Quenah explained, "but it is entirely probable that skins don't actually affect the reproductive organs." Here, Harry blushed. "But rather only those outward appearances that give humans cause for suspicion." He paused and frowned, staring off into space. "Or, perhaps it really does affect all physical attributes, but no physical change could affect one's magic, and I suppose that when it boils down to it, the magic is what is important. But magic is magic, no matter what the species, so...hmm…Ah, but each being has a distinct magical signature, yes? So there must be something distinguishing about an individual's magic and that wouldn't change despite a skin, and-"

"Quenah," Harry interrupted his mentor's confusing rambling sternly. "Basically, you're telling me that I was born an _elf_?" he asked sceptically.

Quenah shrugged lightly. "Maybe. You could have been born _Elwý_ and then given a skin perhaps moments after your birth. This is, of course, highly irregular and would probably have unforeseen circumstances. Or, you could have been born _physically_ human, but I believe that despite that, your magic and mind would still be _Elwý_. I really wish I knew more about the nature of magic and how it pertains to individual species and beings."

Harry's mind whirled. Could it be possible? But what about the doctors who had delivered him? Were they sworn to secrecy or obliviated? Or maybe he hadn't even been born in a hospital, but at home? He didn't know of the magic properties that Quenah was babbling about, but the possibility was now strong that he might be _Elwý. _He grasped at straws.

"What about my cousin Dudley?" he exclaimed, finding an inconsistency.

"Who?" Quenah asked, puzzled.

"My cousin Dudley," Harry elaborated. "He's the most human of humans I've ever seen. Big, fat, ugly and a complete idiot. He's a bully and a delinquent, although Aunt Petunia doesn't know that. But he's her blood son, my aunt's, I mean."

"Ah," said Quenah, "_Taswafáne-aránelle_. She married a muggle human and got banished, am I correct?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah."

"So this Dudley would be her son; hers and the human's?"

"Yup."

"Hm." Quenah furrowed his brow in deep thought.

Harry glanced around. Elves were rushing gracefully about, lifting tables out of the way using their magic and clearing a large space on the floor, where the diagram was inlaid. Other elves were gathered around a set of three cauldrons and obviously making a potion or three by the looks of things. Why the rush? Harry wondered. In his experience, some potions could take _months_ to brew.

But apparently not for the elves. They were making quick progress with the potion and circle diagram, which was becoming steadily more elaborate as the elves added to it using powders.

Quenah cleared his throat and Harry sheepishly faced his tutor again, listening to his answer.

"I believe, though don't take my word on it," Quenah cautioned, "that because _Elwý_ are inherently magical beings - in other words, without magic we would die - and because your...uncle...is a muggle human with not a single drop of magic, when your aunt and uncle's blood mixed, his blood prevented your cousin from being born _Elwý_. Any _Elwý _traits - what's that word again? Ah, genetics - any _Elwý _genetics would not be able to survive without magic."

Harry thought this explanation over in his head.

"What what about Petunia's half of the magic, though? Surely that would have given Dudley enough magic to at least be born a wizard."

Quenah stared at Harry as if he'd just asked a stupid question. "You do not know?" he asked incredulously.

"Know what?" Harry responded warily.

The elf cleared his throat again and said, as if everything could be explained by this one sentence, "The princess is blue eyed."

Harry stared blankly. "So?"

He received an even more incredulous look, then one of resignation.

"I suppose you wouldn't know, would you, Your Highness?" Quenah sighed. "Very well, I shall explain. All _Elwý_ are born with grey eyes. In their first year they change to one of three colours; blue, brown or green."

"What if they stay grey?" Harry interrupted.

"They don't. Now, the colour of an _Elwý'_s eyes means something. It gauges magical strength."

Harry's eyes widened. His eyes were green, what did that mean?

"First there is blue. Blue indicates that the elf only has enough magic to survive, but not enough to use. Next is brown. Brown indicates two things - that the elf is earth inclined and that they are magically powerful enough to do spells. Depending on the shade of brown, that strength can be minor or strong. Some _Elwý_ can even have green-brown eyes. What's the word? Hazel eyes? I think that's it, humans have a word for it, don't they?" Harry nodded. Quenah continued, satisfied, "Yes, and green eyes indicate the ability to perform powerful magic. The brighter your eyes glow, the more magic you have." Quenah peered into Harry's eyes with his own blue ones. "And your eyes are bright, for a human. I can only imagine how bright they would be if you were _Elwý._"

Harry stared. He'd always been quite proud of his eyes. They were the one thing connecting him to his mother and he had received lots of compliments on them when he was younger. Not to mention Aunt Petunia hated them and called them ugly, which was always something to be proud of. Now...now they were a mark of his inhumanness.

"Wait," he said slowly, staring at Quenah's blue eyes, "does that mean you can't do magic?"

"No," said Quenah, though he didn't sound bitter. "A surprising amount of us cannot. Akin to your muggles and wizards. Both are of the human species but some have magic and some don't; although unlike muggles, we elves still retain a portion. I suppose if, at some point, I was in extreme danger of dying, I could drain my life magic and use it, but I'd rather not risk it. It's why I devoted my life to the study of languages."

Harry nodded. It all made sense now. If Petunia only had enough magic to survive, it would explain why she wasn't a witch, was jealous of his Mum (or so he assumed), and hated wizards and magic of any kind. It would explain so much about Dudley too - why he had turned out human, why he was practically Vernon's clone.

Yes, he thought, it all made sense. Which also meant that he…

Harry felt faint.

He stumbled over to the table and yanked out a chair, collapsing into it heavily. Quenah followed him, looking concerned and asked if he was all right.

"I'm fine, I think," he responded shakily.

He tried to distract himself from his train of thought and the preparations going on around them by asking his tutor a question. "Aunt Petunia was the oldest right? So did she used to be Crown Princess or something?"

Quenah sat down next to him. "No. A monarch must have magic. It was your mother who was Crown Princess, my prince."

_Eh?_ Harry thought. _No wonder Aunt Petunia hates my eyes, they're also a symbol of everything she couldn't have_. And no wonder she hated the elves as well. She'd probably been slighted at every turn. She was first born, yet not the heir. She was a princess, yet had no magic. Her sister could go to Hogwarts, but she couldn't; she had to live like a muggle. In fact, if the way his aunt and her parents had interacted was any indication, she'd probably been slighted by them as well, in favour of Lily.

Suddenly, Harry felt sorry for his aunt. Who knew, maybe one day he would forgive her for the way he grew up. Maybe.

He summed up all his thoughts in one sentence. "Damn, that sucks."

In the end, Harry was given a full two hours to prepare himself for his inevitable fate. Two of the potions only took half an hour before they evaporated, leaving behind a kind of paste, one of which was used to write symbols on and around the diagram. The other they kept and did nothing with. The third potion took the full two hours to brew and turned out to be yet something else that Harry was supposed to drink.

About half an hour after his initial conversation with Quenah, Harry began to panic. The full realisation of his situation began to sink in. The potions that the elves were currently preparing were for _him_ to _change_ him.

They wanted to change him! They wanted to turn him into something he wasn't...or was it something he was? Harry was no longer really sure. He found his hand grasping Quenah's robe sleeve.

"My prince?" asked Quenah, immediately concerned. The older elf touched Harry's hand gently and Harry blinked up at him with a tight expression.

"Quenah, stop them. Please," he begged. "I don't want this. They can't do this. I like the way I am, I don't want to change."

Quenah simply stared at him at first, opening his mouth as if he was about to say something, but then his mouth shut with a click and he sighed softly, patting Harry's hand comfortingly.

"Please," Harry repeated, casting a hurried glance over his shoulder at his grandparents. They were quite a ways away at the other end of the room, sitting imperially and talking in low, commanding voices. Just then they both looked over and he paled. Had they heard?

Probably.

He turned back quickly.

"Quenah!" he hissed when his mentor gave no answer.

Quenah sighed again and slowly detached the hand Harry hadn't even realised was still clutching the other's sleeve. "I cannot do that. Nothing I say, or that you say will stop this. Their Majesties will not be disobeyed."

"B-but," Harry floundered. "What if I say 'no'? What if I get up right now and leave the room?" There was an uncomfortable sensation on the back of his neck that he had a feeling were two pairs of cold eyes glaring at him from behind.

"You will be caught and dragged back kicking and screaming," said Quenah simply and as quietly as he could.

Harry winced. Did being the "prince" mean nothing? Or was the king and queen's word just that powerful?

"But I'm sure if I explain that I don't want to, and that I like the way I am and that I'm fine this way that...that'll be okay, right? They'll understand?"

"I'm afraid not. You cannot be the prince if you are human and you must be the prince. You are the son of our princess and you will succeed their esteemed Majesties when their time is finished many centuries down the road. But you cannot be human." Quenah shot him a speculating look. "Although I do not understand your reluctance to part from that sub-par body. It is far inferior in all ways. Why would you not wish to become that which you were born as?"

Harry's lips pressed into a thin line and he turned his gaze to glare at the floor. Quenah just didn't get it. No one did. He didn't want this. He just wanted to go home, really. And home was Hogwarts, not this...this fantasy realm of fantasy beings!

"Just because," he finally said.

Quenah was silent, shifting uncomfortably next to him for a few moments. Finally, the older elf bent down a little, as if to impart a secret and whispered, "Your Highness, you have two options. You can walk into this gracefully and regally without fuss and accept Their Majesties' orders like the prince I know you are...or you can be dragged, bound and screaming into that circle like a criminal, all your dignity gone. I know which I would choose. Do you not wish to prove you are more mature than your age? I know you have been through a lot, but compared to our long life-span, sixteen years of life is still but a child."

Harry bit his lip. Quenah had an extremely good point. Is that what he really wanted? To be treated like a child? Not really.

But did he really have no choice? Did he want to test Quenah's words and try to leave only to be dragged back?

What would his friends do? What would Sirius do?

Harry continued to worry his lip while he admitted to himself that Sirius would probably try to make a break for it. But he wasn't Sirius. He was Harry. Right now it was a case of self-preservation over rashness. Maybe his Slytherin side was rearing its sly head, but if he had no choice, he'd rather do this himself and under his own terms, rather than be forced at wand - or rather - sword point.

He thought about his aunt and the way she'd been treated. Had she felt like this? Trapped and like a prisoner? Is that why she had married Vernon? To escape? To gain some control over her life so it wasn't constantly dictated by her demanding parents and strict social rules?

He also wondered how his friends were doing, and whether or not they knew he had disappeared. The Order had most likely discovered him missing by now and was searching for him. Had Petunia told them anything?

Harry spent the remaining hour leading up to his self-dubbed doom in silence. Even Quenah had fallen silent, as if sensing Harry's need to be alone at a time like this. For his part, Harry was extremely grateful.

And yet, even though he had had two hours to prepare himself for the inevitable, he still had trouble forcing his body to get up and move when he was beckoned. He kept thinking, _They're going to change me. I'm not going to be Harry anymore_, over and over again. He stopped just outside the edges of the large diagram and waited for further instructions. Quenah came up behind him, ready to translate, and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Harry glanced at him gratefully.

_And so it begins_, he thought morbidly.

First, Harry was firmly requested to take off his clothes, to which Harry replied that no way in hell would he do such a thing in front of so many people. After Quenah negotiated a bit with the elves in charge of the spell, it was decided that Harry could leave on his undergarments but had to take off everything else. Reluctantly, Harry had to agree.

Thus, it was a red-faced wizard who soon stood shivering in the cool air of the underground chamber, feeling absolutely mortified that he was practically naked in front of so many people. Of course, he knew that elves didn't take nakedness with quite the same reserve as wizards did, but that didn't stop Harry from having been raised with that mind set.

Next, Harry was politely requested to stand still while two elves brought over the now cool paste and began to paint circles and _Elwýntencelle_ runes all over his body. They consulted previously drawn outlines as they worked and it took a full fifteen minutes of Harry standing and shivering in the same place as they smeared the brown goo all over his body. Quenah stood on the sidelines, calling out instructions when one of the elves wanted him to lift up an arm or turn around.

After Harry was thoroughly covered in drying brown goop, he was given two goblets full of an almost clear concoction. This time, when the small dagger was brought out, Harry knew what to expect and tensed himself as the tip pressed into both his palms. They cut open his previous wound, which had crusted over, and opened a new one on his other palm. When three drops of his blood was added to each goblet, the potion bubbled slightly and turned a copper colour. Harry did _not_ relish drinking it.

But drink it he did, both goblets, one right after the other. Wrinkling his nose at the coppery flavour, he drank them without complaint. The potions settled in his stomach and made him feel slightly queasy and ready to burst.

Harry was ordered to go stand in the centre of the diagram. He had to pick his way across the carefully laid out powders and lines to get there. At one point he almost considered accidentally messing one up so they wouldn't complete the spell, but then wondered what would happen to the potions he'd just drunk if they sat in his stomach and did nothing. They sloshed unpleasantly.

Harry was extra careful after that. He successfully made it to the centre and faced the direction he was ordered to.

He locked eyes once with Quenah who gave him a thumbs up - another bad habit he'd picked up from Harry - and an encouraging smile, but even that wasn't enough to dispel the cold dread pooling in his stomach.

Or maybe that was just the potion acting up? He couldn't be certain.

Harry stood there and waited for his fate.

* * *

_Not a whole lot of change this chapter. Mostly I just tried to clean up the writing style and change the narrative a little so it sounds less childish and parody-ish. _

_So, excuses for the lateness this time consist of: blame Virgin! This chapter would have been out on friday had Virgin not decided to **fail **as a service provider. I couldn't even get a single shred of work done...which is good for you guys because I worked on chapter 6 instead. Already 1/3 of the way through! Second, you may also blame the bastard who knocked over my beta's laptop and broke her harddrive. She went a week without a computer which meant no beta-ing for me. Also, you can blame my uni, my friends, and my laziness. Cheers!_

_Anyway, response last chapter was amazing! Thanks so much for all the kind words/questions/etc...I'll see about getting that map and things up when I have the time! Hopefully sooner rather than later..._

_I'd love to know what you thought of the changes this chapter. I also tried to answer all questions for last chapter but if I didn't get to anyone or you have additional questions, go for it. _

_I've also been exercising my language skills recently. Haha, good fun. Merci and Danke respectively. :]_

_xoxRia_

_Posted: 08/03/11_


	6. Change

_Ex Sanguis Version 2.0 chapter changes: grammar, syntax, descriptive elements, major scene editing, new scenes - absolutely must read for returning readers, as half the chapter has completely changed: additional background information as well_

* * *

**Chapter 6: Change**

Harry didn't have to wait long for the elves to start the spell. It was surprisingly short, but then Harry supposed that most of the elements of it had already been dealt with through the potions and diagrams. So the chanting and final rune drawing only lasted about thirty seconds, maybe a bit more.

The diagram glowed and any substances that had been spread across it evaporated in the ensuing barriers of magic that shot up and spread out. The potion on Harry's skin prickled and warmed, lighting up with the soft glow of magic. His stomach churned unpleasantly and he wanted to scratch the potion off.

When the bright light died down he blinked dancing spots from his eyes, taking in all the disappointed and upset faces. He glanced down at himself, inspected his hands and body, and touched his ears. Everything was exactly the same as it had been before.

Harry felt such a strong sense of relief at this knowledge, his legs felt weak and his knees knocked together. He risked a look at his grandparents only to find their expressions bitter with displeasure. He felt a slight pang at this, but it was soon completely engulfed by his giddiness and relief. The spell had failed and Harry was still human - it looked like Quenah had been wrong.

He was let out of the diagram and allowed to rub off what remained of the crusted potion before he got dressed again. He went to meet with the two monarchs nervously, prepared to ask them if this meant he really was human. Quenah, Harry could tell, didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed at this most recent development.

He stood in front of the two elvin monarchs and twisted his hands in his clothes, wondering what they were going to say.

"This is a set-back in your studies," the queen told him as Quenah translated, "but it is still only temporary. Where this spell has failed, others will not. We will find the solution."

Harry had to hold in a groan. He guessed this meant that they wouldn't be giving him up for a hopeless case anytime soon and letting him go back to the wizarding world.

He was proven right when he was promptly dismissed and told to anticipate further summons in the future. Harry and Quenah followed their previous guide out of the room and back up to the main corridors of the palace, where they were dropped off and left to make their own way back to the royal quarters.

As they walked through the corridors and up the stairs, Quenah finally voiced his thoughts. "I admit I am a little disappointed; my theory was wrong it seems. But you must be happy, Araëmel-aryón," he said.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I am. I was so nervous, but now I'm still safe." In fact, he was so happy he could ignore Quenah's use of his "other name."

"Well," Quenah responded, "we won't let it stop our lessons, though it would have made them easier, I admit. I assume you'll resume them tomorrow."

Harry nodded. "Ok, I figured tha-aat! Ah!" Harry grabbed hold of Quenah's arm to stop himself falling as his vision suddenly went blurry and he tripped.

"Your Highness!" Quenah exclaimed, stiffening under his touch. "Are you all right? What happened? Should I call a medic?"

Harry straightened and let go of his support, noting that Quenah's shoulders immediately relaxed. It was the first time they'd physically touched, he realised. Elves rarely, if ever, touched - perhaps it was considered very intimate?

Harry pretended not to have noticed the awkwardness. He rubbed his eyes, but his vision was back to normal and his glasses were fine as well. "I don't know. Something went funny. I'm fine though." He glanced up at his mentor, confusion written plainly across his face.

Quenah frowned. "I can only guess that it has something to do with the spell. Backlash maybe? Residue magic?"

"Oh." Harry rubbed his eyes again, just to check, but he could see fine.

"Perhaps I should return and ask Their Majesties to suspend lessons tomorrow, just in case this gets worse. It is a bit inconvenient."

Harry jumped on the chance. "Yes, please do!"

Quenah nodded and bowed at Harry, turning to head back down again. "Will you be all right by yourself, Your Highness?"

Harry waved a hand carelessly. "Don't worry, I know where we are. I can get back easily."

"I'll be back later then, in time for dinner," Quenah said and hurried off. Harry watched him go and sighed, rubbing his head as if he had a headache - things just kept getting stranger, and now he was having aftereffects. He hoped they wore off soon.

Then again, he thought as he continued his way back to his room alone, he had gotten out of lessons. He'd better stretch soon though. Standing around for so long hadn't been good on his poor, aching muscles, which were cramping and made walking a bit painful. Still, Harry was used to this by now and could ignore it easily.

However, by the time he reached his rooms, Harry was nearly staggering his way through the door. He collapsed on his bed, feeling drained.

_Stupid Melcacrist_, he thought miserably, _and stupid spell_.

When Quenah reappeared some time later, Harry had moved from the bed to the floor and was in the middle of stretching.

"Are you all right?" Quenah asked, coming up behind him.

Harry didn't bother raising his head from where he had it down by his knee and answered, "No. All that standing around made my muscles cramp up really badly. Hurts."

"Had any more aftereffects?"

Harry lifted his head from his right knee and switched to his left, managing to respond, "I feel really tired and I've got a headache coming on, I think."

Quenah hummed in the back of his throat. "You should go to bed after dinner," he said, watching Harry switch to a new stretching position. "And no lessons tomorrow. Sleep off the effects. I won't bother you tomorrow - you can have the whole day to yourself."

"Okay," said Harry, feeling more cheerful from the good news.

"Do you feel up to dinner?"

Harry went into his final stretch as he thought about the question. He wasn't sure. After drinking all those potions he didn't really feel all that hungry. Eating right now would probably just make him feel queasy. "No, not really," he replied honestly.

He finally straightened up and, wincing, turned to face his tutor. Quenah had a worried look on his face and his eyes narrowed at Harry's wince.

"Go have a hot bath and then go to bed, Your Highness," he ordered.

Harry wanted to make a smart salute to that, but decided against it when his shoulder muscles protested. Nodding curtly instead, he wandered into the bathroom and heard Quenah exit quietly behind him - he was alone.

He set the bath water to run and undressed slowly. Thinking about it, his muscles were hurting more severely than he would call normal. They rubbed against his skin, which felt stretched too tight. Worse, his bones ached. It was horribly uncomfortable.

Harry reached over and turned off the water and sank into the tub for the second time that day, relishing in the wonders of hot water on aching body parts. He closed his eyes and sternly told himself not to fall asleep. He must have dozed off somehow though because when he became aware of his surroundings again the water had grown luke-warm and it was fully dark outside. Falling asleep had negated any good the hot water might have done for his muscles. He shivered and tensed as he climbed out of the tub.

Feeling inordinately tired, Harry slipped into a pair of comfortable pants before climbing into bed and snuggling under the covers. He quickly fell asleep, hoping he'd feel better in the morning. Perhaps he could get some of his school work done, like that pesky potions essay…

Harry awoke several times during the night, shivering or sweating profusely. Each time he felt awful, like he had a fever, and it took him longer and longer to get back to sleep. Finally, around seven in the morning, just after the sun had come up, Harry gave up sleeping and lay in bed, finding it hard to concentrate on anything.

If this was what was going to happen every time those elves tried some experiment on him, next time he wasn't going to be such a willing participant. They'd have to drag him into that circle kicking and screaming!

He groaned and shivered, suddenly feeling cold. Then his headache spiked. It ached behind his eyes and in between his ears especially, but mostly it felt like a herd of hippogriffs were having a drinking party in his head. Maybe another bath would do the trick? Harry had never bathed so much in his life, but whatever little bit helped.

Harry got out of bed, although tumbled was probably more accurate, and stumbled his way into the bathroom, leaving his glasses on the bedside table. He almost ran into the wall, but managed to manoeuvre himself through the doorway in the nick of time. He sat on the edge of the tub and turned on the water, watching it sleepily as it slowly rose. When it got high enough, he shimmied out of his bottoms and practically fell into the sunken hole. He slouched against the side, groping for the tap to turn it off, finally succeeded, and then promptly fell asleep again. This time, when Harry awoke in the luke-warm, bordering on cold water, he felt loads better. His muscles still ached and he still had a mild head-ache, but he was no longer getting hot and cold flashes or feeling sick and dizzy. It was a vast improvement. He guessed the after-effects only lasted for a day or so, which was a relief.

It was a gorgeous morning. The sun shone brightly and the room was awash in more colours than Harry knew even existed. It was very beautiful and soothing. The light threw everything into very sharp relief - the edges of the marble, the soft glittering of the gold tap. He blinked and the glitter disappeared. It had just been his imagination.

Shaking his head, but not wanting to waste such an obviously beautiful day, he got out of the tub to dry off. Or at least, that had been the plan, before he slipped on the lip and did a face plant on the stone.

Gasping, Harry pushed himself up and felt his nose anxiously. It was a bit numb, but otherwise fine. Shaking his head at the embarrassing fall and glad that no one but him had witnessed it, he reached for the towel and dried off quickly. He tripped and stumbled his way into the other room for his clothes - it was like the world couldn't stay upright. He felt drunk, like all his reflexes were dulled. He kept misjudging where to place his feet or hands.

Scowling at the lingering aftereffects of the previous day, Harry began to walk in carefully controlled lines and circles on the large fur rug at the base of his bed. Fortunately, the more he moved around, the easier it got, and the clearer his mind became.

He had one elvin outfit left that wasn't dirty, so he fumbled it on, finding it fit him rather badly. Had it shrunk in the wash? It was done in blues and silvers and _looked_ like it should fit, but the pant legs definitely fell short a bit and the jerkin refused to do up completely. Discarding the jerkin with a sigh, he wondered who had been in charge of washing his clothes. Things like this would never happen at Hogwarts - the House Elves were too good at their job.

_Right_, he thought, turning his attention to more important things, _time to finish that blasted potions essay_.

He spread out his school supplies on one of his desks and reluctantly pulled the nearest potions text towards him. He got distracted by the ink in the books, a strange colour which reminded him of oil. Hadn't this book been written in black ink? The rustling of the book pages also echoed loudly in the room and Harry glanced around him. Shaking his head, he picked up a quill and scribbled just as loudly across the top of a piece of parchment.

When his stomach growled in protest some time later, he set down the quill. He used a small crystal bell that sat on a tiny ledge next to his bed to call for breakfast. There were three of these small bells in different areas of his room, placed for convenience, and they were spelled to correspond with counterparts in the servants' quarters. The tinkling noise they made was quite pleasant, more so than usual, Harry thought, and he rang it a second time just to listen. He realised belatedly that it might appear that he was impatient and quickly stilled, guiltily placing the bell back on its stand.

Sure enough, the knock at his door came much sooner than expected. The collared servant who entered looked anxious and dropped to one knee immediately upon entering, without even daring to look at Harry. Harry's guilt tripled, but he had no way of apologising as there was no such thing in this culture.

The servant remained silently in his subservient position, waiting for Harry to instruct him. Harry had discovered that by writing down the phrases necessary to order things like drinks or food, he could get by quite well. He read off his cheat sheet now.

_"A drink and some food."_ There was no please, as that didn't exist in this situation either.

The elf bowed even lower, nose nearly touching the floor. He placed a closed fist over his heart in acknowledgment. It meant 'Understood' in silent servant language.

While he waited for his food, Harry stepped onto the balcony and leaned against the railing, staring down at the palace below him. The morning sun reflected off the white stone dazzlingly, like it had been polished to a mirror sheen. Here and there the light refracted into a rainbow of colours, or there was a glint of gold or silver. Even farther, perhaps a mile or two, were the lush green trees of the forest. They stretched as far as Harry's eyes could see, which, he found, was rather far indeed.

He reached up to adjust his glasses, thinking he had rather extraordinary vision today, but his hand met empty air. Momentarily confused, he felt around his face and then back behind his ear...and then all the way up to the very tip, all four inches of it.

His left hand trembled as it reached for the other side of his head. He was met with the same fleshy, warm extension. The strangest thing was feeling his fingers on parts of his ear that shouldn't exist.

Harry knew what had happened, though his brain refused to process the information properly. The aches, the pains, the weird feverish sleep, and the churning stomach. The way his skin had felt stretched and uncomfortable. All of it added up to only one conclusion.

He stared blankly across the palace, breathing irregular. This was not happening!

"Oh Merlin," he whispered, hands clenching on the marble ledge. "Oh please no."

Again he felt the ears. He pinched the tip of one and yelped at the sharp sting. "Ow! Shit. Shit," he repeated.

He stumbled back inside and froze at the entrance to the bathroom. There was a full-length mirror in there, one he hadn't bothered looking in earlier that morning. He had to see - he needed to see.

He hovered, feet trapped by fear and indecision. He needed to see, but he didn't want to face the truth. His turbulent emotions ground to a halt at the soft knock on the door. The servant had returned.

Harry took a deep breath to calm himself down, before bidding them enter. The servant holding the tray was a girl this time. She entered with her head bowed, a pitcher of sweet water and an assortment of foods on a large crystal tray. She stopped just within the door and waited for more instructions.

Harry had to clear his throat twice before he could muster up the ability to form sounds. _"O-over there."_ He pointed at the low table in front of the couch arrangement.

The elf woman had to raise her eyes to acknowledge the order, and for the briefest moment her gaze focused on Harry. He could tell the moment she saw him that something was very, very wrong. Her eyes widened and the water sloshed as her hands jerked from shock.

The panic returned, clawing frantically at the insides of Harry's skull. He wanted to rush into the bathroom to look, but at the same time he was frozen in fear of what he would find. Would he even be able to recognise himself anymore? Had he turned into someone else?

The servant was too well trained to remain shocked for long. She quickly placed the tray on the table and bowed to Harry so deeply he was afraid she was going to fall over, before making a hasty retreat. When the door clicked shut behind her it signalled the breaking of the dam.

He dashed towards the bathroom, tripping over his feet as he did so. His hand hesitated at the thick curtain, but Harry did not like to consider himself a coward, so he ripped it back and made a beeline for the mirror.

It was...shocking, to say the least. He felt numb. Surely that wasn't him?

But it was. The most comforting thing was that it was definitely his face staring back at him from the mirror. The same nose, the same cheekbones. There was a slightly more slanted tilt to his eyes, and his eyebrows were thinner, but those were superficial changes. He thought his jaw line might be less square than before, his chin slightly more pointed, but the difference wasn't pronounced.

The change wasn't as big as he had been expecting, but it was enough that at a glance he wouldn't recognise himself. The worst thing was the eyes and ears. His eyes were alien, eerie. They glowed brightly, the iris stretching from corner to corner with no white to be seen and his pupils contracted into thin slits due to the bright sunlight. The eyes looked like they belonged on the face of an animal - a cat, or perhaps a dragon - not him.

Unable to look at his eyes any longer, he reached up and touched one of his ears again. The long, thin appendage twitched beneath his fingers. Pulling his hand away, he tried to move them without touching - they went up, down, backwards; the range of movement was shocking. Just how many more muscles or bones - or even organs! - did elves have in comparison to humans? Just how far from a human had he become?

Harry shivered and closed his eyes. He didn't like being forced into this new body. His old body had been comfortable, familiar. This was strange and foreign and forced him to acknowledge truths he would rather avoid. What would Ron and Hermione think if he told them he wasn't human? Would the wizarding world condemn him for this too? He wondered.

He turned away from the mirror with a scowl. The wizarding world was always condemning him for one thing or another, so what difference would it make? If it weren't for his friends and the people he considered family - for the obligation towards their safety and the safety of all the innocent people that Voldemort threatened thanks to him - he might have told them all to go hang.

He stepped back into his living room, passing through the sheer curtains that separated the balcony from the inside. He stared down at the palace again, wondering what life growing up here would have been like. Why had his parents left? Why had they stayed during a time of war? He wanted to ask them so many things, but he knew that was impossible.

He leaned on the balcony and buried his head in his arms.

"Mum, Dad." His voice was muffled. "What were you thinking? Why has all this happened to me?" His fingers slowly curled into fists on the stone edge. "Dammit!" he yelled into the cloth of his shirt, "why can't I just be normal!"

He wanted to punch something, vent his stress and anger, but there was nothing around but clean white stone and flimsy curtains. Suddenly, he whirled, stalking inside. His wand lay on the bedside table and he snatched it up, gnashing his teeth all the while. He could feel his magic churning in his gut, unstable in his anger, and he knew he needed to do something - anything - to release the tension.

"_Incendio!"_ he cried, pointing the stick at the curtains. The thin, gauzy fabric caught and was consumed in flame within seconds. When the flames reached the stone they died, unable to find fuel to burn, but when they reached the floor, one of the rugs caught fire. "_Augamenti!"_ Harry snapped, dousing the flames and leaving behind singed fur.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. There was the scent of burned fabric and despite the way it irritated his nose it was soothing to know he had been the cause of such destruction. His magic had settled now, but he still felt restless. How could he just take this sort of thing lying down? Had he even had a choice? No! He hadn't asked for this, it was pushed on him!

He paced through the open gap left by the destroyed curtains, kicking a balcony post with his foot in frustration.

"No one ever asks me what _I_ want," he told the air. "Everyone always just assumes their decisions are for the best."

Dumbledore. Snape. And now his 'grandparents.'

"I never get a fucking choice!" he snarled. "I say 'no' and no one even cares that it's not what I want!" He stopped pacing for a moment and took a shuddering breath to calm his nerves. It didn't work. "I thought they were supposed to be my family...but since when has my _family_ ever cared about what I wanted?"

He laughed brokenly and decided he must be going insane. Talking to yourself was the first sign of insanity, after all. He snorted. These so-called grandparents were just like the Dursleys. He really shouldn't have been surprised - shouldn't have got his hopes up. They just wanted to use him as well.

He kicked the post again, feeling a perverse sense of satisfaction when it made his toes throb. He tried to clear his mind, calm down. He stared across the palace, eyes lighting on the third palace. He knew that Melcacrist was down there - with a whole barracks worth of destructive instruments. What Harry wouldn't give to be down there right now, hacking away at a post.

He blinked. What was preventing him from going?

Perfect. He lifted his face to the sun, closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply through his nose. Problem solved.

He stood there for a few moments more, just listening to nothing. Except that there was much to hear. There was the wind, the twittering of birds. Each brush of soft air across his face felt like fingertips. He opened his eyes quickly. There were no birds, and the wind felt too solid to be a mere breeze, yet his hair was barely ruffled.

The wind brushed his exposed skin again, phantom touches. He felt like if he wanted to he could reach up and brush the breeze away, like it was a physical thing he could control. Turning away, he retreated back inside. He hadn't had breakfast yet - he would make his way down after breakfast.

But breakfast was just another reminder. Everything tasted different. Harry was amazed that sweet water wasn't actually all that sweet, just pleasantly crisp on his tongue. The cheese was sharp and tangy, the fruit more sugary - everything was topsy turvy.

Putting down his food in disgust, Harry leapt up and began to pace. He wasn't going to escape this. This wasn't like a change of clothing; this was permanent. He couldn't just take off his skin - not this one at least.

He really needed to whack some wooden posts.

Harry pulled on his brown leather boots, hiding the fact that his pants were a little short. Had he gained a few inches? He fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt, but there was nothing else to be done about his outfit. The shirt was already one of the finest pieces of clothing he owned, but compared to a lot of the elves he saw in the corridors he looked undressed. Then again, he was used to looking scruffy.

Trying to remember his way through the maze of corridors was a matter far easier than expected. He'd only walked the distance once before, but his memory seemed quite sound, his most recent experiences especially crisp and clear.

There weren't many _Elwý _up and about in the main palace, but when he reached the second palace he was suddenly surrounded. Elves glided to and fro, all intent on some unknown goal, but the most amazing thing was that none of them so much as paid Harry a spare glance. It was refreshing, the anonymity - it hewed the edge off his anger.

It took Harry a bit over an hour to reach the grounds. He headed towards the stables, stopping briefly to say hello to the horse that he always rode, which whinnied at him and nudged his hand in greeting.

The sounds of the horses snorting and shifting around in their spacious stalls were the only sounds for a good length of the stables. As he approached the other end, Harry began to hear the sounds of shouting and clashing. Was Melcacrist teaching right now?

Sure enough, there were two sparring matches going on in one of the larger training areas. A crowd of young elves stood around the edges and yelled at those fighting. It was the first time Harry had seen any _Elwý_ his age and it brought him up short. He stood at a distance, observing.

Their training was familiar - two opponents facing off with noise surrounding them to break their concentration was Melcacrist's favourite training method. Harry knew the hardened warrior believed battle wasn't some silent affair where everyone would square off evenly and silently duel. There would be blood and guts and gore and screaming, and one needed to be able to keep their wits no matter what.

Harry approached slowly. Most of the students were concentrating on the two matches, but two poor souls were sprinting their way around the large arena. They bore down on his position as he drew even with the fence. The first one passed him with a curious glance, but the second slowed down and stopped next to him and stared.

_"You're new,"_ he declared in surprise

Uncertain what to do, Harry merely nodded. The other boy looked him up and down, taking in his simple blue tunic and tan pants. He tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes. _"And you're really late, come on, I'll help you sneak in."_

Harry wasn't completely certain what the other elf meant by that last bit, but he understood that he was to follow. Shrugging to himself, he did just that.

They came up behind the rest of the class. The other running boy from earlier spared them a second glance and raised both eyebrows in the elvin equivalent of an eye-roll before dismissing them as inconsequential. Melcacrist wasn't looked at them either - indeed, he hadn't even spotted Harry coming from the stables.

The elf who'd spoken to him, who looked like he'd barely broken a sweat sprinting several quarter-miles around the large training grounds, leaned in close to Harry and introduced himself, _"I'm Meldirlion of the House of...Noiar." _He stepped back, tensing.

Harry realised this meant the boy before him was some kind of nobility. He didn't remember mention of the House of Noiar though, which suggested it was probably what was called a 'Lower House'. He had already been forced to memorise the most influential, important Houses, or the 'Upper Houses'. Then again, if the mention of a House hadn't given him away, the way in which he had introduced himself probably would have. The most headache inducing thing about the elvin language was the multitude of different ways to refer to oneself depending on status. The boy, Meldirlion, had just used a variant that Harry couldn't quite place. If it wasn't a status important enough that Quenah had made sure he remembered, it implied Meldirlion was someone of little consequence.

Harry already liked the other boy. He seemed friendly, even a little outgoing, which was something he had yet to see in this realm. In his experience, those with less power tended to be more friendly and sincere.

He opened his mouth to introduce himself and stuttered to a halt. What would happen the moment he said who he was? Probably nothing good. With the way that the _Elwý_ treated their sovereigns, he had a hard time believing the knowledge of his so-called status wouldn't have the opposite effect he desired. Rather than make a friend, he would probably create a massive panic.

So Harry shut his mouth quickly and pointed at his throat with a frown and shook his head. His language skills were pretty much non-existent anyway. If he pretended not to be able to speak, hopefully he could get by.

_"Huh?"_ Meldirlion made a noise equivalent to a question in the back of his throat - a sort of trilling sound.

Harry shook his head again and attempted to make the universal signs for 'I can't speak' by slashing his hand across his throat and shrugging his shoulders.

_"You...do not wish to associate with me?"_

Harry sighed. He didn't get what had been said but he was pretty sure it had nothing to do with his 'inability' to speak. He rolled his eyes, eyebrows rising automatically with the gesture, and shook his head again.

_"You do?"_

Harry raised a hand in a gesture to stop. Then he opened his mouth and pointed to the inside of his throat. Then he shook his head firmly and made a cross sign in front of him.

The boy's green eyes lit up with comprehension quite literally. _"Ooh! You don't speak!"_

Harry grinned. Finally! He nodded firmly.

Meldirlion tilted his head and frowned. _"That makes thing difficult. I don't know who you are. I've never heard of anyone who doesn't speak!"_

Harry shrugged, hoping that would be answer enough for half the sentence he hadn't understood. This inability to communicate was really rankling his nerves. He knew even if he tried he'd sound retarded. Worse, he only knew the more formal speech patterns, which might scare the other boy off.

The sudden roaring of sound from the group surrounding them made Harry jump. His ears, far more sensitive than he was used to, jerked back in an effort to get away from the sound. He peered around the heads of teenagers at the practice arena just in time to see the finale of a match.

A pretty elf girl with sharp features and an equally sharp look on her face, stood triumphantly over her collapsed opponent. There was a sheen of sweat coating her face and her shoulders heaved. As Harry watched, Melcacrist strode up to them and sent the loser off to run laps. The girl remained and with a sharp call, another girl - this one brunette, with her hair tied up in a braided bun - stepped forward.

_"Oh, poor Taswa,"_ said Meldirlion next to Harry. _"This is her third match, you know. She's exhausted."_

Harry gathered enough meaning from Meldirlion's words to figure out the gist and turned sympathetic eyes to the blonde. But she didn't seem worried, merely settled herself into a fighting stand and held her practice sword in an experienced grip.

_"Impressive, right? She's one of the best,"_ Meldirlion boasted with a whisper of a smile.

Harry nodded. He didn't think he'd want to have to fight her. She looked like she'd pulverise him.

_"Niwh usually wouldn't stand a chance, but this is Taswa's third match, so maybe she might win,"_ Meldirlion continued.

Harry didn't get most of that, but he surmised that 'Niwh' was the name of the small brunette with the bun. He didn't really know enough about sword fighting yet to be able to tell the difference in skill between the two fighting girls, but from the furrowed brow of Niwh and the calm, but determined countenance of Taswa it was obvious who had more experience.

Harry watched them for a moment longer. Even with their novice ability, it was impressive to watch. Their movements were smooth and quick, limbs flowing in a way that Harry knew was humanly impossible. Rather than a sparring match, it looked like a choreographed dance - the muscle control was too precise, the reaction time too fast.

_Yeah,_ he thought_, very impressive._

He glanced around him to the other students. None of them seemed half as awed as either he or Meldirlion. A lot of them were trying to cause distraction by shouting out false advice or warnings. Harry couldn't really understand a lot of it, mostly it was just noise, but he thought a majority of words were directed at Taswa. He caught snippets of phrases meant to confuse her and wondered why everyone wanted her to lose so badly.

Next to him, Meldir sighed and cupped his hands around his mouth to shout encouragement - probably the only person there doing so. He got some nasty looks for it, which drew attention to Harry. The elf from earlier, the one who had been running, joined several of his classmates when they decided Harry was far more interesting an attraction than the fighting couples.

_"Who's your new friend, Meldir?"_ asked a dark-haired, green-eyed elf dressed in clothes Harry thought rather inappropriate for physical activity. The gold brocade and small red rubies sewn into the cuffs and collar were complete overkill seeing as the shirt was more than likely to get ruined during a spar.

_"Who might you be?"_ added another elf, this one with a head of dark-auburn and amber eyes, which went nicely with his pale green shirt. The green made Harry wary. According to his etiquette teacher, the colour green was the colour of power, so Harry thought he might be dealing with another Draco Malfoy.

Harry pursed his lips, unable to really answer. His eyes strayed to Meldirlion, who was looking nervous and tense.

_"He hasn't given his name,"_ 'Meldir' said. _"I don't think he can talk." _Harry had a hard time interpreting the sudden change of verbs and language. The language Meldirlion was using he recognised as more respectful towards the other two boys, by placing himself in a position of lower status.

The red-headed boy stared at Harry like he was a bug under his shoe and Harry began to regret coming down to the training grounds. He had come to distract himself and release his anger, not get involved in school-yard rivalries. It seemed that no matter what species, nor what culture, teenage behaviour was pretty much universal.

_"Looks like you've found yourself the perfect companion then,"_ smirked Redhead.

Just because Quenah had never taught Harry how to insult in _Elwýnllambe_ didn't mean that he couldn't tell when he was being talked down to. He wasn't sure what was worse - knowing exactly how he was being insulted, or being oblivious to the exact slur.

Meldirlion flushed red, right from the tips of his ears to down the sides of his neck, but he said nothing in response.

_"They look good together,"_ agreed the one with more money than sense.

To his left, the running boy from earlier, who was dressed in a deep, burnt orange, snorted and added, _"Just leave them be."_

Harry had to fight to keep the scowl off his face. It irritated him to be talked at like he didn't exist, but it was even more annoying knowing he couldn't defend himself. He had never felt the language barrier more acutely than now.

Unfortunately, things got even more sticky when Melcacrist's single ear caught wind that there was a commotion going on in the back. He stalked his way through his students and crossed his arms, eyes narrowed menacingly.

_"What is going on here?"_ their instructor bellowed. Then he launched into a fast-paced spiel that Harry didn't even try to follow. He did focus again when Melcacrist paused and addressed him directly. _"What are you doing here?"_

Harry blinked in surprise. He wasn't sure if his teacher recognised him or not, so he didn't know how to reply. Melcacrist loomed over him, eyes trailing over his clothes, his hair and his face with a frown. Perhaps he recognised what Harry was wearing, or perhaps it was the familiar face hidden behind his new mask, but Melcacrist's eyes widened and he took a step back, arms falling to his side.

Harry realised in that instant that if he didn't say something, the weapons' master was going to reveal exactly who he was in front of all these people. Part of him baulked at the thought. He didn't want his interactions with people his own age tainted by overbearing social restraints. He quickly raised a hand and said the one thing he could to get his point across, _"Don't."_

Melcacrist opened his mouth, lips already twisting in a scowl, but when Harry purposefully let his eyes drift to Meldirlion and back again, the older elf seemed to understand. He shut his mouth and nodded tightly, beckoning Harry with a sharp motion of his fingers.

Harry followed his teacher to a distance far enough that the explosion of sound from the other teens became background noise. He was shocked at just how far they had to walk to achieve this, and even then, if Harry focused, he could still hear words being passed around. Melcacrist made a strange gesture with his hand and the noise became muffled. Harry couldn't be sure if he was doing something weird with the strange power most elves seemed to have over air or if he had cast a spell, but he felt his tense shoulders relax. They wouldn't be overheard.

_"Araëmel-aryón."_

It was a statement, more than a question, but Harry felt it needed answering regardless. _"Yes."_

Melcacrist nodded to himself, regarding Harry anew, as if he couldn't quite believe it still. Finally, he asked, _"What is Your Highness doing here?"_

Harry bit his lip. This was so frustrating! There was no way he could properly explain himself! _"I...look."_ He gestured at his appearance. _"Am...sad? No, um, angry? Not happy. Want to…"_ He gestured again at the group of students huddled by the training arena. _"Quenah, not where know...er, not know where he is."_

Melcacrist stared at him for a few moments, probably trying to work through Harry's terrible grammar. His lips quirked slightly and he chuckled. _"Your language has much improved."_

Harry scowled. What a load of bollocks that was! He could barely string a sentence together without Quenah's help! _"Not enough,_" he growled.

Melcacrist shook his head in amusement. _"Your pronunciation is nearly perfect."_

Harry only knew what those words meant because Quenah liked to berate him about his bad pronunciation most days. Melcacrist's words made him pause, and he went back over their conversation. He hadn't even realised it, but the elf was right! He no longer had to struggle to make sounds and the inflection had come almost naturally. _"Oh."_

Melcacrist chuckled again and said something that Harry didn't understand. When Harry gave him a blank look, Melcacrist tried to rephrase. _"You wish to fight."_ He pointed at the arena.

Harry nodded quickly.

_"Hmm…their level is above yours, but…"_ his teacher continued some more, talking about technicalities that Harry neither cared about nor understood. What he did care about was when Melcacrist said, _"Very well. Against Meldirlion." _

Harry looked over at the only elf so far who had tried to befriend him. He supposed fighting someone friendly was better than fighting one of those Draco Malfoy wannabes.

_"Okay,"_ he said.

Melcacrist said something else - something about telling someone something, but Harry had no idea what he was saying. He simply trailed behind his teacher back to the arena.

Melcacrist called for Meldirlion and beckoned them both to the edge of the fence. Taswa and Niwh were already done - so were the other two elves who had been fighting twenty feet away. They were summoned back and Melcacrist paired Taswa - the victor of her match - up against the sturdy looking elf boy of the other and waved them off to the corner.

There was a small line of practice swords leaning up against carved wood of the fence. Both he and Meldirlion grabbed one and it was only once they stood facing each other that Harry felt a stab of nervousness. Sure, he had wanted something to beat on - get rid of the aggressive energy cycling through his body - but he'd only been learning how to fight for two weeks! Meldir would wipe the floor with him, and being humiliated had not been on his agenda for the day.

Still, the weight of the sword in his hand, the familiar stance, was comforting. He needed that right now. The more he thought about what he had become, how everything he had known had been turned on its axis, the more upset he grew. Everything had slipped out of his control, but this sword - this he could control.

Meldir shifted slightly as Melcacrist retreated back to the other side of the fence. _"Good luck,"_ he muttered, giving Harry an assessing look.

Harry's only advantage at the moment was the element of surprise. Meldirlion didn't know what level of fighting to expect, so if Harry could start off strong, he might be able to end the duel before it had even begun. He wasn't holding out a whole lot of hope, but so far his luck had always seen him through.

His mind now focused on a goal, everything else got pushed to the sidelines and he centred himself, prepared for the fight.

Harry didn't think; the moment the first swing met his sword, he reacted. Being in so many life and death situations had honed his reflexes and ability to respond to any situation - two weeks might not have been much, but it was enough to hammer in the basics, and Harry used those now with eerie precision. It was like the world slowed down - Meldir's swings were somehow predictable, his blows weak, and his reaction time sluggish.

Or, perhaps it wasn't the world that slowed, but Harry who sped up. His muscles pulsed with unknown power. He swung hard to block Meldir and found himself pushing the other boy back for once. He ducked a swing and realised he actually had time to make an attack of his own. Before, duels with Melcacrist had been but a blur - now each swing of the sword was clear.

It was like an out-of-body experience. He heard the whisper of the wind as Meldir's sword changed direction again. Like he could almost see the way the wooden edge parted the air and knew where the strike would land. He brought his blade up to block successfully.

The exchange wore on, Harry keeping too far out of range for Meldir to properly disarm him, and the yelling became a sort of background buzzing noise that he barely registered. He was on the defensive - Meldir's experience had the clear advantage - but he wasn't being thrashed like he'd feared. He was holding his own.

The _clack, clack_ of the wooden swords hitting one another was cathartic. Every time he swung, he imagined he was releasing his anger and frustration. He imagined Dumbledore's face, Petunia's face, his grandparent's faces. He put a bit more aggression into his strikes than he meant to, his face twisted into an ugly scowl. The expression caused Meldir to falter, uncertain. Harry took advantage, nearly relieving the other boy of his weapon.

But Harry was a novice and Meldir wasn't going to be defeated by such a clumsy manoeuvre. They broke apart, Meldir leaping back like a cat and eying him warily. Harry adjusted his grip on the pommel of his sword and waited. As he did, some of the conversations the other trainees were having drifted past his ears.

He didn't understand most of it, but some part of him subconsciously remembered his lessons with Melcacrist, and he got the feeling he was being horribly insulted. The more the idea took root, the angrier he became. What right did they have to demean him? Were they talking about his fighting ability? He'd like to see them do better with only two weeks of training! Was it his attire? Just because he was dressed sensibly, they thought he was beneath them? Harry's hand clenched tightly around his sword, ears stiff and burning with rage.

Meldir sensed his mounting anger - or perhaps he inferred it because he could actually understand precisely how Harry was being mocked - because he held himself back, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

The comments didn't stop (Harry wondered why Melcacrist wasn't doing anything) and more and more he wanted to march over and swipe his sword at them. Something - his magic? - stirred around him like an angry animal roused from a nap. It rose up and the wind rose with it, tugging at his hair and clothing. Little eddies of dusty air danced around his feet.

Eyes wide at Harry's fury, Meldir abandoned all pretence of a duel, lowering his sword.

_"You okay?"_ he asked in concern.

Harry heard muffled laughter and snickering from the sidelines. The wind picked up more, feeling like an extension of Harry's rage. It felt like he was flinging his arms out around him, lashing out. He wanted to throw one of those limbs towards the snickering, perhaps slap the smirks off those gloating, alien faces.

To his immense shock - a shock which, fortunately, interrupted his anger - a sudden groove gouged the earth to his left, racing its way to the fence and the teens on the other side. Harry turned his head just in time to watch Melcacrist make a gesture and the gash abruptly cut off with a sudden clapping noise like thunder.

There was dead silence.

Harry stared at what he'd done unblinkingly. What...had just happened? He didn't know what he'd just done, but it was obviously some kind of elvin magic. He hadn't even had to _do_ anything; he had simply imagined it and it had happened.

He took in the wide-eyed expressions gawking at his loss of control. No one was laughing now. Even Melcacrist was eying him like he might suddenly go feral.

This was too much. Everything was too much. He couldn't fight anymore. He just...needed to be alone. He needed to sort this all out.

Calming his racing heart, he turned his back on Meldir and walked robotically back towards the fence. When he neared close enough to discard his sword, Melcacrist gathered his wits enough for a smidgen of a frown to crease his brow.

_"What…"_ he began.

Harry dropped his sword, fingers shaking slightly. He could still feel it, that invisible presence just out of reach, like an extension of his spirit. He knew if he focused on it even for a second, it would obey his thoughts - and that scared him.

He drew in a deep breath and cut off his teacher before the older elf could continue his sentence. _"Stop. Move."_

It was rude, but even had he known how to be more eloquent, he doubted his state of mind would have allowed it. A ripple passed across the crowd of students who were blatantly listening. A few of them actively displayed their shock at the way Harry was treating the most renowned swordsmaster in _Elwýn_.

But Melcacrist clearly understood that Harry needed to get away. Or perhaps it was his shock at Harry's unhinged state, because the instructor mutely stepped to the side. He said something and the students reluctantly shuffled to the side.

Harry leapt over the fence in one smooth motion. He was too far gone to really appreciate the feat and how effortless it had been. He landed on the balls of his feet and continued his stride unbroken.

What was he going to do? Where was he going to go?

The dark green of the trees caught his eye. He needed to cool his head, and what better place to do it than surrounded by familiar territory. White marble palace walls were one thing, but one forest was as good as another and maybe...just maybe he could pretend he was back at Hogwarts.

Struck by a sudden pang of homesickness for the one place he had ever called home, Harry added it to the leaden weight already hanging from his shoulders.

He left the panic behind him and chased quickly after his sanity.

* * *

_For those of you who read my author profile updates, you'll know why I've been MIA. For those that don't, I recommend reading it for the details, but to make a long story short: I'm a final year university student who just completed one half of my joint honours degree (still have two exams left, but I had a 10 day 'break' between them, so...) which unfortunately included a bunch of papers, exams, and of course a dissertation (or as some people call them a 'graduation thesis'). The dissertation was 12,000 words long, and let me tell you, the state of my life during the last month or so has been the epitome of disgraceful. My only reprieve was the week I spent in Paris, but even that was half because I needed to practice my French. **sighs**_

_Let's just put it this way: I spent my birthday in my room, reading books on language contact in Japan and English loanwords. I didn't even celebrate or anything. Blegh. _

_Anyway, just two more exams to go in a week, and then this is over for LIFE. Holy shit._

So, on to important things, like: what did you think of Harry's reaction this time around? I changed a lot. From here on out you're going to see a lot more changes to the plot, to the characters, and just basically to everything. The next chapter, which I've already written and is in the process of being beta'ed and so will be out as soon as I get it back, is virtually unrecognisable. I'm really anxious to know what you think of these changes. I really wanted to keep Harry in character with his reactions but with such an outlandish situation, it's hard! I also wanted his interactions to be a bit more realistic, and while I know the way he 'discovers' his changes isn't as dramatic, I realise he's probably not THAT dense and would figure it out a whole lot earlier. I'm trying to keep things a bit more grounded this time around.  


_Also trying to have Harry interact more with the other 'kids'. Putting in a lot more cultural references as well. Hope you guys like that!_

_So, let me know what you think! And sorry about the long wait...but...I'm almost done with Uni, so...rejoice! Hopefully I can keep up a more regular updating schedule soon. _

_Thanks so much to anyone who's reviewed or messaged me to keep me on my toes. A few of you asked after me, that was really sweet, so thanks. Don't worry, this fic is far from abandoned! A few of you have also been very helpful with your comments about mistakes or just the plot and characterisation in general; thanks. _

_Finally: that map, etc...will be going up once I have time to come up with a few more names. It's hard coming up with that many names for places and things! Goodness! _

_Bye guys, I'll update soon!_

_xoxRia_

_Posted: 26/05/11_


	7. Garden of Memories

_Ex Sanguis Version 2.0 chapter changes: grammar, syntax, descriptive elements, major scene editing, new scenes - absolutely must read for returning readers._

* * *

**Chapter 7: Garden of Memories**

Harry headed into the woods. He left behind the noise of the students and the heavy atmosphere of discord and retreated into the foliage. At first the trees were sparse and thin - leaves a light leafy green and ground covered in grass and bushes. The further he went, the thicker the trunks grew and the more the branches blocked the sun, casting dappled shadows across the mossy ground. Yet, despite this, Harry could see perfectly.

The feel of the forest around him was soothing in a way it had never been at Hogwarts. Harry stopped and peered up at the tall branches above him. He closed his eyes and drew in a heavy breath. He could practically taste the dirt and leaves on his tongue, and he could hear every rustle of leaves and creak of branches. He opened his eyes again - everything in the shadows was thrown into sharp relief - it was the oddest sight, like the shadows didn't truly exist except to alter the colour of his surroundings, rather than to obscure outlines.

Harry sucked in a shuddering breath and released it, clenching his hands into fists. Even now, in the woods, just standing here and existing reminded him of what he now was. Inhuman.

He trembled - perhaps in anger, perhaps in fear, he didn't really know. He hadn't asked for this - any of it. But since when had he asked for anything in his life? Except, perhaps, for parents to love. Instead, he now had grandparents - who knows, maybe even more aunts and uncles and cousins...but with his track record so far, he wasn't holding out much hope of them being decent.

But weren't grandparents supposed to be kind? Sympathetic? Shower you with gifts and love?

At least, that's what he'd heard. Vernon's parents were gone and now he knew why his mum and Petunia's parents had never been mentioned, so he had no practical knowledge. But still - he'd always liked to imagine a grandmother would be much like an older Mrs. Weasley, always trying to feed you and smiling and hugging you; knitting you scarves and jumpers for winter, and sending you cards on your birthday. The regal, imposing figures of the king and queen of _Elwỳn_ were none of that. For one, it was hard to reconcile the image of the young monarchs with any sort of image of 'grandparent', and for another it was like neither of them were able to show much emotion beyond mild curiosity or displeasure.

And the way they'd treated him yesterday...he'd felt like some kind of science experiment. One of Snape's unfortunate chosen when he wanted to test a new potion he'd invented.

Harry backed up until he was pressed against a tree, the bark rough through his light tunic shirt. He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't want to think like this, but he couldn't help himself.

"Dammit!" he snapped, pounding a fist against the tree. It hurt, but he did it again regardless. "Merlin," he swore, "why me? Why is it always me?"

He unclenched his fist, flexing the smarting skin and muscle. The wind began to pick up around him, swirling the leaves off the ground.

Harry stared at the leaves blankly for a moment, before he remembered what he'd just done back at the training grounds. That elvin power he'd used without even meaning to.

The more he focused on the wind and its captive leaves, the more he began to realise he could _feel _it, like someone brushing faintly against his skin, or a breeze ruffling his hair. Vague, but there, and easily mistaken for nothing at all.

He shivered. Not from the cold, but from the alienness of it all. It was too much - all these new feelings, new reflexes, new sights, smells, sounds, tastes...It was too overwhelming.

Finding out you're a wizard is one thing - at least you're still the same species - but finding out you're not even human? He brought his hands up to his face and gazed at them blankly. They weren't his hands. The fingers were longer and thinner. At least his skin colour was the same. He wondered how he could have missed that while he was bathing.

He sucked in a breath and shook his head. For that matter, how hadn't he immediately noticed everything was different? His hearing, his sight? Had he really been that out of it that he hadn't even noticed he'd never picked up his glasses?

He reached up and felt his ear again, wondering at the fact that he could feel his fingers touching something that hadn't used to be a part of his body. Three extra inches of flesh mysteriously appearing and he hadn't noticed that either. Not until he'd reached up to adjust glasses that weren't there.

Harry would bet his entire vault at Gringotts that Hermione would have noticed immediately. Even Ron, who was generally rather unobservant, would have realised the changes. He let out a hollow laugh.

"You're such an idiot, Harry," he told himself amidst the soft rustling of leaves and chirping of birds. "You're a prize idiot!"

He thumped his head once on the tree, looking up at the branches and the dim viridian sunlight. The peaceful scene was completely contrary to his emotional turmoil. He glared at the speckled foliage, offended at its serenity. With a groan, he slid down the length of the tree trunk and crouched there at the base, fingers digging into the spongy ground. He felt the dirt get under his fingernails and the moss tickle his palms, and somehow that made him feel a bit more human.

_Except you're not,_ a traitorous little part of his mind reminded him. _You never were._

"Fuck," he swore.

He let his head drop between his knees, trying to block out everything, but even that was denied him when he felt his new ears brush harshly against his knees. If he stayed like that, he wouldn't be able to ignore their presence. And ignoring things sounded really good right about now.

Except...Harry was never one to ignore things - that would be cowardly, and Harry didn't do cowardly. So no matter how much he disliked this situation he was going to have to face it eventually.

"Okay," he spoke out loud, to help his resolve. "This isn't so bad. Think of the positive."

He stared at the dirt between his legs as he tried to make a mental list of reasons why this could possibly be a _good_ thing.

First of all, he was clearly more fit - able to react more quickly and jump higher. His hearing and sight were better as well. He imagined how well he would succeed in duelling if he could keep these kinds of advantages. He'd have the upper hand simply from reaction time alone!

"Okay," he told himself again. "What else?"

New powers. That weird thing he'd done with the...air? His magic? It had certainly looked dangerous. If he could learn to use that in battle, he could attack with spells from one hand and slice and dice with the other. Unbidden, an image of Death Eaters scattering like bowling pins entered his mind and his lips quirked into a smile.

"So think of it this way," he coached himself firmly. "You're still the same person, you've just gained some extra abilities." Merlin, he sounded crazy. Suddenly, he sucked in a breath and his head jerked up in realisation. "Extra abilities," he repeated with wide eyes. "The prophecy!" Could it be? The 'power the Dark Lord knows not'...could it be Harry's new abilities? It seemed highly unlikely that Voldemort would be able to have a counter to magic he didn't even know existed!

Harry let himself collapse fully on the ground with a breathless laugh. Of course! This was the answer! Dumbledore was wrong - the power was something tangible. And this...this Harry could use. He didn't have to grope blindly in the dark any longer, hoping for an answer or a plan. The thought was such a relief he completely forgot his anger. Right now all he could do was look forward and focus on the one thing that really mattered: getting rid of Voldemort.

Suddenly, those lessons with Melcacrist seemed like a good idea. Learning how to fight could only be an asset. But he wondered if he could convince someone to tutor him in magic as well.

He held out his hand again contemplatively. He turned it this way and that and flexed his fingers experimentally. Then he tried to remember the feeling of the wind - that extra, invisible presence that was like a phantom limb. And in order to make that limb move, he had to flex the muscle that controlled it...which was easier said than done.

Harry furrowed his brow in concentration, searching for that feeling. He'd done it before, he knew he could do this. He also knew it was tied to his magic, so he searched deep within where he felt that spark of power originate. He could just sense it - the presence of the air around him - but he couldn't move it yet.

"Come on…" he whispered.

He prodded and poked in every mental way he could imagine, and then, just at the fringes of his self-awareness he thought he felt something twitch in response. Seizing the feeling, he prodded it again and the twitch was stronger. A leaf blew off the ground and flipped several times before floating back down gently.

Harry grinned.

It took several minutes before he could deliberately do more than create a random breeze. The moment he managed to float the leaf he intended off the ground, he felt immense self-satisfaction. The moment reminded him of the first time he had performed magic in class - that feeling of accomplishment and just a little bit of awe at what he was capable of.

He clenched his fist, using the actions of his hand muscles to guide the air in the same manner and the tendril that had the leaf enveloped it and tore it to shreds.

He amused himself in this manner for a further several minutes, taking his anger, frustration and general bad mood out on the innocent foliage. It was cathartic, though not half as satisfying as physically hitting something. Soon there was a neat pile of scraps sitting a few feet away from him. Harry made a grand sweeping gesture with his hand and blew the entire pile into the air in a shower of leafy confetti.

He probably would have found something else to test, but the unexpected soft tread of leather clad feet on the dirt reached his ears and he froze. The sound came again and his ears twitched towards the left, his head soon following their path. Whoever it was sounded close.

Harry stared intently between the trees until a figure clad in a simple light blue tunic rounded a tree trunk and immediately spotted him. Despite the distance still between them, Harry could see the figure's features clearly - it was Meldirlion.

Slowly, Harry rose to his feet, eying the other boy warily. What was he doing all the way out here? Had he followed him? Come to fetch him?

Meldir eyed Harry back just as warily, coming to a halt several feet away and shifting on his feet uncertainly. His ears were stiff and his eyes round and unblinking, which was eerie. Those eyes darted around the clearing, observing Harry's sanctuary.

_"Um...hello,"_ he began.

_"Hi,"_ Harry responded, tensing involuntarily at the thought that he was expected to have a conversation in _Elwỳnllambe. _He didn't know enough - this wasn't going to work.

_"Master Melcacrist sent me,"_ Meldir offered in explanation when Harry didn't initiate further conversation.

This, Harry understood. _"Yes?"_

_"He says your tutor has come."_

Harry fortunately understood this as well and began to relax. Perhaps...perhaps he could get away with his poor language skills after all. _"Quenahgóla?"_

Meldir made a shrugging gesture with his hand. _"I do not know his name."_

Harry sighed. He would merely have to assume that it was Quenah - who else would it be? He supposed he ought to follow Meldir back.

But Meldir wasn't finished. After a moment of hesitation, he suddenly blurted out a long string of words very quickly and Harry only caught a few bits and pieces. He thought Meldir might have been asking him about his temper tantrum earlier, or maybe saying something about what people were saying about it, but he wasn't sure.

It was annoying and frustrating. On top of everything it was like the icing on the cake - new body, new powers, new _life_...and without even the courtesy of being able to effectively communicate. It was like he was some kind of outcast. He was already stranded on a strange world, but he felt like there were glass walls separating him from the rest, whether culturally or verbally.

Meldir seemed to be waiting for a response and when Harry could only stare unhappily at him, it seemed to make him nervous, because he stuttered out several apologies (these Harry understood) and then launched into a shaky explanation of some kind.

Harry desperately wanted to reassure the other boy. He feared if he didn't, his silence would drive the first _Elwỳ _his ages that had shown any interest in befriending him away. But even had he wanted to say something, he couldn't.

With a snarl of frustration, he slammed his open palm into the tree next to him. Meldir jumped in surprise and took a hasty step back, apologising yet again. Harry bowed his head so he didn't have to see the upset look on the other's face. His anger from earlier returned with a vengeance, this time directed at a new source of irritation.

If only he were smarter, then maybe he could learn the language faster. Was there some kind of magic he could use? He bet Hermione would know. And wasn't this stupid language supposed to be something his _parents_ had used? If only they had lived, would they have taught him? He gave a hollow laugh - if they had lived, he doubt he'd be where he was right now.

_"I humbly apologise and beg forgiveness for whichever slight I may have unknowingly committed!"_ Meldir repeated for the third time. _"I understand I'm not wanted...I will leave you."_

Too late, Harry didn't work out what the other elf had said in time to prevent him from backing away and quickly leaving the clearing. Then, as he searched for the right word, he disappeared behind a tree and was lost to sight. He could still hear the thump of footsteps and knew he would be heard if he yelled, but…

_"Wait…"_ Harry sighed under his breath. There was no point in actually asking Meldir to wait around because he would have no way of communicating either way. "I'm not angry at you," he continued in English, "I just don't know how to say what I want to say."

He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, fingers catching on his ear. He gripped the lengths of his hair in vexation. He couldn't even say enough to explain that he couldn't speak properly!

_"I not angry,"_ he said to the open air, Meldir's footsteps already out of earshot. He snarled - that wasn't right. _"I am not angry...to you? From you?_ Dammit!"

_Think, Harry! Think!_ What was it? What was the right form?

He glared at the dirt by his boots and slid down the tree trunk again to crouch at the base. He jabbed angry fingers into the moss and scrapped up a handful only to throw it across the clearing.

Why couldn't things be simpler? Why couldn't the elves speak English? Or even Latin! Something familiar, at least. Something he'd heard before.

He squeezed his eyes shut and frowned. Something…familiar?

He could sense it, something fluttering just out of reach at the edges of his mind, straining to come to the fore.

"Concentrate," he whispered to himself. He tried to relax his mind, just let himself drift and think of nothing, except:

_Concentrate, concentrate, concentrate…_

The word became a mantra, and without realising it, Harry blocked out the whispering leaves and even the dirt beneath his fingernails, slipping into a mild form of Occlumency. A vague memory began to take form and he reached for it gently, so as not to break the fragile connection. A beautiful face swam into view with cascading auburn hair, sparkling green eyes and a wide, wide smile. An elf, eerily similar to the Queen.

_Mum…_Harry realised with a start. The large face bent over him, cooing and smiling.

_"Oh, Astawl, I still can't get over how perfect he is! Hello, my little one,"_ she sung, her voice more beautiful than Harry could ever have imagined. She spoke _Elwýnllambe_ yet somehow Harry knew the meaning behind her words, even if a few of them were unfamiliar to him. It was as if he could read her mind, feel her emotions and ideas - like they had a connection. _"Hello, my little Araëmel."_

Harry gave a start. She had called him Araëmel.

_She really did name me that. I guess it's not such a bad name…_

A new face appeared. Another elf, but this one with warm chocolate eyes and messy dark hair. He grinned down at Harry and stuck his finger near Harry's face. Harry watched and sort of felt as small hands that could only belong to him reached up and grasped the finger.

_"I wish we didn't have to give him the potion so soon, but we can't put it off any longer. I know we're in hiding, but Sirius really wants to meet his godson."_ Harry's father murmured to his wife as he played with Harry's small hands.

_"I know Astawl - James. I'm just glad we were able to convince them that it would be too dangerous to go to St. Mungos. I'm glad I was able to give birth out of my skin and stop Araëmel from being discovered." _Lily stroked Harry's head and he suddenly felt overwhelming warmth and love. He smiled.

_"It's been a month though. You've brewed the potion?_ _Prepared the spell?"_

James (Astawl?) nodded his head and drew away from Harry. Harry tried to reach out and grab him to bring him back, but he didn't succeed.

_"I'm so sorry we have to do this, Araëmel,"_ Harry's mum told him sadly. _"I hate to deprive you of your true body and self, but you'll understand in the future. I'm doing this for your happiness. This way you'll be happy. No Elwý and no Mother. No horrible lessons and veiled cruelty and prejudice. Our race isn't all they claim to be, my son. Besides, if you're anything like me-"_ here, Lily wrinkled her nose and made a face at him, winking when she was done. Harry heard himself giggle, _"-then you won't even want to rule. No more crowns in this family."_

Harry still didn't know how he could understand mostly everything. Perhaps it was his magic reacting to his subconscious. Maybe he really did know more than he thought. It was strange though, like he wasn't hearing her words so much as understanding her through meanings and images, but he understood all the same. Was that how an _Elwý _baby's brain worked? It was...unsettling.

Some of the things Lily said disturbed him a little. Her words were like a sharp slap to the face; a wake-up call. Clearly, he would have grown up knowing everything. Grown up human and _Elwý_ at the same time.

Lily moved out of view, leaving Harry lying wherever he was and the memory started to fade. He tried to cling to it, begging his mother to come back, to give him more moments basking in her presence and love, but it was no use. The memory faded completely.

_No, no, no! Come back!_ Harry reached out desperately, trying to bring it back up again. It didn't appear, but instead something else began to take form. _It's Sirius_, Harry realised with shock. The man was lying across from him, grinning at him as Harry took small, uncertain steps towards him.

"Come on!" Sirius was crowing. "You can do it, Harry!"

Harry wobbled and almost fell over.

_Sirius_, he thought, _I'm so sorry_. His godfather looked so happy in this memory, better and healthier than he'd ever seen him before - younger too.

Finally, Harry made it to Sirius's face and reached out with slightly larger hands than last time to grasp handfuls of the man's hair.

"Hey! Ow! Jaaames! Your kid is ripping out my hair! Harry!"

An amused snort came from behind Harry, but he didn't turn around to look, though he knew instinctively that it was his father.

"Suck it up, be a man Sirius!"

Sirius glared over Harry's shoulder, though he was too busy tugging on the black locks to really pay attention to his godfather's facial expression. Big hands came up and tried to gently dislodge his grip. Harry tightened his own hands in response, but he was no match for Sirius and eventually his little fingers were pried off.

Sirius sat up, keeping his head carefully out of reach.

"Come 'ere, you," he grumbled good-heartedly, scooping Harry up and depositing him into his lap. Now Harry was facing the other way and he was finally able to see his father as he sat in an arm chair, an amused smile on his face.

Harry opened his mouth. "Ada!" he exclaimed happily. With a start, older Harry realised that he was using the Elvish word for 'daddy' instead of the English.

James grinned at him. "That's right," he said proudly. "I'm your Daddy."

"I never get why he says 'a-da' and not just 'da' or 'dada' like _normal_ children, Prongs," said Sirius's rumbling voice from somewhere behind Harry's head.

James shrugged and said, "Beats me."

Harry mentally chuckled. His father knew very well why Harry called him 'ada' instead of 'dada.'

"Come on little prongslet, say my name! Say Sirius!" Sirius cajoled, leaning over Harry's head so that when he looked up, he was staring into the man's large face above him.

Harry grinned and went, "Pada!"

Sirius sighed, "Always with the 'pada'."

James laughed.

"All right, you two," a new voice said, "it's time for Harry to go to bed."

Lily entered the room, coming into Harry's line of sight when she came to stand behind her husband. James looked up at her and she smiled lovingly down at him. Behind Harry, Sirius began to make gagging noises. Lily looked up with a scowl, sticking her tongue out at Sirius in a surprisingly childish gesture.

"That's it you, out you go! Come back tomorrow."

"Aw, James! Lily's kicking me out! Are you going to stand for that?" Sirius whined.

Harry giggled and reached up, grabbing the end of his godfather's long-ish hair.

"Ack! Shit!"

"Sirius Orion Black!" Lily shrieked. "Watch your language!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Sirius tried to make Harry let go again.

"I think Harry likes your hair, Sirius." James was laughing again.

_I think so too_, Harry thought privately. Really though, it was quite amusing watching his godfather act so cuddly and carefree while he was simultaneously made fun of from three sides.

Sirius got Harry's fingers out of his hair for the second time and picked the baby up and placed him on the floor. He quickly stood up and stared down at Harry. As a baby, Sirius really towered over him.

"Bye bye, pada," said Harry, astonishing himself.

Sirius shook his head. "I'll say it again, and I'll keep saying it, but that kid is creepy smart."

Lily and James shared a secret smile.

"Bye bye then, Prongslet," Sirius said, twiddling his fingers at Harry and making a face. Harry silently laughed at his godfather's silly display. "G'nite, James, Lily. I'll see you tomorrow, I suppose. I'm looking forward to that cake you promised you'd make for Harry's birthday."

It was July 30th, Harry realised.

Sirius began to leave, and too late Harry tried to stop him from leaving.

_Wait, Sirius,_ he tried to call, but of course nothing happened, _don't go yet! I still want to see you!_

Sirius vanished through the floo and then it was just the three of them. Harry stood up again and tried to make his way over to his parents. Lily moved from behind the chair and swiftly came to pick him up. She held him in her arms and Harry felt warm and safe.

"Nana," he murmured sleepily, suddenly feeling tired. 'Nana' was the elvish word for mummy.

Lily smiled and kissed the top of his head. _"That's right, my little one. I'm your nana. You're learning so fast, aren't you?"_ She said the words perfectly, without a twinge of accent, and Harry wondered how she could when Aunt Petunia couldn't. Or he couldn't.

_"That's my boy," _said James proudly, coming to stand with them. Harry peered at him drowsily.

_"He's tired. I'm going to get him into bed. Can you do the dishes?"_

James pouted. _"Do I have to?"_

_"Yes, you do,"_ Lily said, sounding mildly amused.

_"Goodnight then, little man. Sleep tight. Ada loves you." _James kissed Harry's head, and in his mind Harry had to blink back tears.

'_Ada loves you._' Such a simple phrase, but it meant the world to Harry. He was sure that this was his happiest memory yet.

_"I wonder if he's going to start getting confused about which language to speak, or what his name is when he gets old enough,"_ James mused, stroking Harry's cheek with a finger. Harry reached up to grasp it, then stuck it in his mouth. James grimaced. Lily chuckled.

_"You know he's still teething,"_ she said. _"But our little Araëmel is smart. He'll figure it out in no time."_

_ I'm not smart_, Harry thought to himself as he continued to chew on his father's finger.

_Aren't you?_ A niggling little voice at the back of his head said. _How many other third years could have performed a Patronus like that, and in such short a time? Or figured out the secret of the Chamber?_

_Hermione figured it out first_, he argued back.

_Ah, but that's Hermione. We're talking about _you.

_"Let's get you up to bed, then,"_ Lily was saying.

Harry wholeheartedly agreed, because he was feeling really, really sleepy. James disappeared, moving past them into what could only be the kitchen, and Harry watched him go sadly, wishing he would come back. Lily moved in the opposite direction though, heading for some stairs.

Harry's eyes drooped shut.

_Wait,_ he thought, _open them back up. _But his little body didn't respond and they stayed shut. Only the feel of his mother's arms around him, holding him up, still reassured him that she was there.

But soon even that faded as the last vestiges of his memory disappeared into sleep. He stayed in that blackness, just breathing in and out, waiting for the return of more memories - begging for it - but nothing came. Soon, the sounds of forest began to filter back to his awareness. Birds chirping, leaves rustling, a bug buzzing somewhere.

He lifted his head and stared blankly at the trees. Wetness gathered in the corners of his eyes. He _remembered_. He remembered their faces, the sound of their voices, the scent of his mother's soft skin, and the way his father's finger had tasted; it was all there, so strangely fresh and vivid.

He could still hear his father's voice saying, _"Ada loves you."_

_"Ada,"_ he whispered out loud, tasting the word on his tongue. Then, _"Araëmel."_

He supposed it wasn't a bad name. Certainly a bit more interesting than just plain 'Harry'. If it was the name his parents had chosen for him though, then he really shouldn't be protesting it.

Shaking his head, Harry quickly wiped away the tears and stood up. He had to find Quenah now - he would worry about the truth later.

* * *

_Easier said than don_e, Harry ruminated some minutes later. He was thoroughly lost. He was sure he was facing the right direction, but if he'd properly traced his path back, he should have broken the tree line by now. Which begged the question, where exactly was he?

He squinted up through the canopy, hoping to get an idea of where he might be from the position of the sun. The trees were thinner so he knew he was in the outskirts of the forest, but with the sun directly overhead he couldn't tell which way was east and which way was west!

"Bugger it all," he cursed, stalking over another upturned root.

Well, if worst came to worst, he had no doubt that rescue parties would be sent out, but Merlin's balls that would be embarrassing! Determined to at least get somewhere, he broke into a jog, feet treading with surprising nimbleness and precision on the root-littered ground. Amazed at his grace, Harry sped up until he was flat out sprinting through the trees. He felt like his feet had wings.

Grinning, he ran faster, hair whipping into his eyes. For five minutes he kept it up, and still his legs pumped along steadily and his lungs barely burned.

"Brilliant," he managed breathlessly.

Finally, the tree line abruptly thinned out into underbrush and a few saplings. Harry was left staring at the glistening white palace walls perhaps half a mile away, surrounding a part of the palace he was quite sure was nowhere near the stables.

"Whoops," he told the wind, stopping on the green grass and searching for some kind of gate to get past the walls. A glint of gold caught his eye and he saw a small lattice-work gate with what appeared to be a single stationary guard. Perfect.

As Harry approached, both he and the guard had plenty of time to observe the other as the distance between them closed. The guard was dressed in dark green and gold and holding a familiar looking spear. When he was close enough to shout across the distance, his eyes picked out the details on the spear and he recognised it as the same type the guards outside his tower carried. A Royal Guard then perhaps?

Harry managed to walk right up to the gate and get a glimpse of some kind of garden beyond before the spear blocked his view and the guard spoke, _"This garden is forbidden."_

Harry blinked at him. Forbidden? Why would it be forbidden? He asked as much.

_"This garden is private,"_ the guard responded in as few syllables as he could manage without being disrespectful. Harry was impressed by his stoicism.

_"Oh,"_ he said, frowning. He wondered who the garden belonged to. Wasn't this supposed to be _his_ palace or something? _"Well, I want to get back inside there,"_ he made a vague hand gesture towards the palace which was still a fair distance away beyond the walls, _"so can't I just pass through?"_

The guard didn't respond at first, merely blinked, though his surprise at Harry's words were plain by the nervous twitch of his ear. _"This garden belongs to Their Most Esteemed Majesties, none may enter."_

The title threw Harry for a loop until he'd managed to wrap his head around its ridiculousness. But then he realised that this guard had no idea who he was.

He nodded in understanding. _"Okay, I see, but I doubt they'll mind if I go in."_ He peered round the guard's rather large spear head and through the golden lattice. He saw splashes of vivid colour and something glinted just past a blooming tree. He squinted, trying to make it out.

_"Who proposes such a thing?"_ the guard enquired, his scandalised tone completely at odds with his semi-polite question.

Harry sighed. Maybe it was because he looked all scruffy? Well, that was easily solved. Introducing himself had been one of the first things Quenah had taught him._"I am Araëmel-arýon."_

The guard stared at him dumbly for a few seconds, as if he couldn't quite believe his ears. _"His...Royal Highness?"_ he repeated uncertainly.

Harry nodded firmly. _"That's me."_

The spear was yanked out of his face faster than the speed of sound. Then the guard was on his knees, head bent over Harry's boots. Harry gaped.

_"T-truly...my most humble apologies, Your Most Gracious Highness."_

The sudden switch to overly formal language threw Harry off. He remembered Quenah teaching him something about apologies the other day...what was the appropriate response again? And what had that guard just called him? Most...something?

Harry pondered this for a few moments, and it was only as he was running their conversation back over through his mind that he realised he'd just had an entire dialogue in _Elwýnllambe_ and not even realised it.

He stared dumbly down at the bowed brown head of the elf. What...was going on? Since when did he know so much _Elwýnllambe_? Could it be...something to do with those memories? He'd understood then as well. Maybe...maybe he used to know it, but had forgotten and now he was remembering again?

But that was absurd, he thought. He had only been a year old - there was no way a one year old child could know enough language to be able to communicate in proper sentences like that. No way at all. Something wasn't adding up.

Abruptly, he realised he'd left the guard to tremble on his knees for quite some time now. He honestly couldn't remember how to respond to such a situation (and wasn't that strange - why did he know some things and not others?), so he used the safest phrase he could manage to dredge up, _"Apology accepted."_

The guard didn't rise, but Harry heard him let out a soft breath, as if in relief. _"Your Royal Highness is too generous."_

Harry raised a sceptical eyebrow. Was this sort of behaviour normal? Wasn't this going a bit overboard for only doing his job? What did he think Harry was going to do? Trying to distract from the whole awkward situation, he tried to end the conversation, _"Can you open the gate now?"_

The guard leapt to his feet. _"At once, Your Royal Highness!"_ He dragged two of his fingers in an anti-clockwise circle over an engraved rune at waist height and Harry saw a soft yellow glittering loop settle around the etching. The rune glowed briefly and then the gate swung open.

_Wandless magic! _Harry thought, extremely impressed. _It's simple and efficient. I definitely need to learn this._

_"Thanks,"_ Harry told the guard.

The guard clearly didn't know what to do with such recognition, so he merely placed one hand over his heart in a sign of deep respect and bowed at the waist. Harry decided he'd imposed long enough and hurried into the garden, the gate swinging shut automatically behind him. He turned, half expecting to see the guard watching him through the gate, but the elf had taken up his position to the side and again and was nowhere to be seen.

Shrugging, Harry turned to regard his new environs.

It was like Eden. Or at least, if Eden existed Harry reckoned it wouldn't be far off the mark. It was a harmony of colour. Flowers in shades he hadn't even known existed bloomed everywhere, arranged artfully around gleaming white marble and crystal statues.

There was a mosaic path running from the gate and straight through to the large tree he'd glimpsed earlier. The path branched off between arrangements, but Harry made a beeline for what appeared to be a large pavilion. It was made out of white wood that looked more like it had been grown that way rather than built. A tinkling stream cut just behind it, on the bank of which rested the tree with its delicate pink blossoms.

Harry knew he was only here to pass through to get to the palace interior, but he couldn't help wanting to stop and smell the roses (or whatever they were). He mounted the steps to the pavilion and ducked his head under hanging purple blooms

The first thing he noticed was the life-like statue of an elf woman. She shimmered with golden flecks where the light through the latticework hit her, lighting her up with an angelic radiance. Harry's breath caught for more reasons than that - he recognised her.

"Mum…" he whispered hoarsely. Then, _"Nana…"_

He stumbled over to her, drinking in the finely carved cheekbones, the softly parted lips, and the gentle curve of her nose. He reached up and let a finger hover over her face, almost afraid to touch. It really was too life-like.

As he stood, hesitating, he wondered what a statue of his mother was doing in a pavilion in the middle of a garden. Was it some kind of memorial? He had never had the opportunity to visit his parents's graves, but somehow this seemed like a close alternative.

Abandoning all indecision, he traced her features with his fingers sadly. "Hi, Mum. It's me, Harry...Araëmel. I guess I have two names, don't I?" His hand dropped to touch on the bundle of stone flowers she held in her arms. "I could see you doing this - picking flowers and stuff. Did you like flowers a lot? I guess most girls do, right?" He was babbling, he knew, but he felt a little silly talking to a statue. He dropped into silence for a few moments, trying to gather the courage to say out loud some of the things that had been running through his head recently. "Seeing you and Dad has really helped. I guess part of me just didn't want to believe everything they were telling me." He let out a sigh. "But I guess it's all true - everything. But...I wish they'd just sit down and _talk_ to me or something." He snorted. "I almost think they don't really care at all. They just want an heir, I guess, but…" He paused to step back and stare at the statue for a moment or two, then continued in a rush, "They gotta care, right? Or they wouldn't have built this... right? Maybe they're just busy...or don't know how to treat me either. I'm not exactly an expert at family interaction." He decided to change topics. "I've figured out a way to deal with Voldemort. I feel a lot more confident now; I know I'll get stronger. I've got a great opportunity to train this summer instead of just sitting around at the Dursleys' being useless and bored. Oh, yeah!" He had to pause to shake his head at the incredulity of his next statement. "I can't believe Aunt Petunia isn't human! She's always so obsessive about being normal and hates magical stuff so much I would have never in a million years imagined she could be anything other than a normal muggle! Talk about skeletons in the closet."

Harry stopped there to take a deep breath and let it out. This was helping; feeling like he was communicating with his mother somehow by talking to her statue. It was kind of silly, but when magic was involved, he wasn't going to rule out the possibility that she could really hear him. He liked to think she could. So he continued to talk, spilling his guts - all his worries and concerns. He found himself eventually sitting at the base, near her feet, and leaning against her dress.

It was nice, sitting there in a kaleidoscope world, listening to the sounds of nature and his own steady breathing. There was a bird twittering nearby and though he couldn't spot it, its innocent tweeting made him smile. He stared out through the gaps in the pavilion, sharp eyes picking out the details on jewelled petals and vivid green foliage. A few bees buzzed softly around some of the blossoms, completing the scene.

He sighed and reached out fingers the trace the edge of a marble toe. "I guess I should probably head back now. I need to find Quenah and ask him about all this. Especially how I've suddenly gotten really good at speaking - that can't be normal, can it?" He frowned and shrugged. "Then again, this is me we're talking about." He snorted. "Anyway, I promise I'll come back and visit again. I hope...I hope wherever you are right now, you're happy."

Harry let out a heavy sighed and rose gracefully to his feet. Talking with his dead mother, while strange, had been cathartic. Any lingering anger had been completely eradicated, leaving him with a sense of contentment. That didn't mean he wasn't still troubled, but for right now he wanted to accept who he was, if only so that he could accept the words his parents had spoken to him. If he rejected that…

All of this, everything _Elwý_, it was something he was supposed to have known. His memories didn't lie. He hoped they didn't lie. Really, the one who had lied was Aunt Petunia, but even then Harry couldn't completely blame her, because he knew he never would have believed her if she'd tried to tell him what he was. The potion his parents had given him (that 'skin' thing) had needed some serious magic to reverse. He could imagine it now, Aunt Petunia trying to tell him, 'By the way, nephew, you aren't human. You're actually a mythical elf-creature from another dimension, but I can't prove it to you because you've been heavily disguised.'

Harry rolled his eyes. Right. That would have gone down well. No one knew, no one could have told him anything, so now he just had to...accept, and move on. That's what Hermione would tell him to do. Harry had issues letting go of anger, but...looking right now at the beautifully carved rendering of his mother's face, he couldn't find it within himself to feel anything other than love and sadness. He'd think about the rest later.

He traced a last lingering touch down the side of Lily's marble cheek. "Bye," he said in parting.

Keeping to the mosaic pathway, he headed towards the towering palace walls, passing more fountains, statues, and even an elegant, delicate looking bridge suspended over a merrily babbling creek, most likely by magic. He was tempted to test his weight on it, but drew himself back at the last minute, vowing to come back another time.

The path eventually led to another gate in the wall. It was closed, a slight problem until Harry gently touched it, and it swung open automatically. Immediately, he heard the whisper of clothing and an exhaled sound of surprise that meant there was likely a guard right next to the opening. Harry quickly poked his head out and sure enough, two wary, unblinking cat eyes stared back at him. The guard's whole body was tensed but the moment he saw Harry, the cautious expression melted to one of confusion.

"Er," said Harry rather un-eloquently.

The guard blinked.

"Um," Harry tried again, carefully stepping past the silent elf. "Hello?" When he received nothing but blank confusion in return, he remembered this guard likely didn't understand English. _"Hello?_" he tried again.

The elf hesitantly placed a hand over his breast and made a short bow reserved for children of the Upper House. At least, that's what Harry thought he did - it could have been that bow that meant he was acknowledging Harry's status as superior, but he thought that one might have had a deeper dip.

Harry wasn't particularly fussed what each bow meant, and Quenah had always informed him that it only mattered that he could recognise them, not perform them, because the Royal Family _never_ bowed to anyone. The only thing he had needed to learn was the imperious head inclination which meant something along the lines of 'I graciously acknowledge your deference,' which Harry found both amusing and disgustingly pompous. Nevertheless, he performed the gracious head bob.

It was probably the head bob, but after a few seconds, when Harry did nothing else in terms of greeting, the guard's eyes widened and he quickly dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

Harry sighed. This was becoming an awfully common occurrence and it was disconcerting to have people on their knees in front of him. It reminded him too much of how Death Eaters might treat Voldemort. He didn't like the idea that he somehow had the same measure of power over them as Tom Riddle had over his simpering followers.

He shook his head quickly to dispel the unwanted imagery. This was different. It was just a matter of differing cultures, he prompted himself. Here there was a monarchy, just like the olden days back in the Human realm. He was sure people had bowed like this to the kings and queens back then, so this was not at all like Voldemort.

_Yeah, _he thought drily, _not at all alike. Please._

He didn't really know what to say to the guard. Neither Quenah nor the evil etiquette teacher had been particularly helpful in this regard. They were under the impression that Harry would always know exactly what he wanted from the other party - in other words, Harry would always have to be the one to initiate any interaction. Only by giving someone leave to speak, or stand, would he be able to carry on a conversation.

He stared down at the guard. He didn't particularly want to speak to the elf, but nor did he really want to leave him just kneeling there.

_I feel foolish,_ he thought just as he opened his mouth and said, _"You can, uh, return to your...post."_

The guard somehow managed to dip his head further in response, then rose swiftly and backed against the wall next to the gate, face stoic but eyes lowered.

Harry turned away quickly and eyed the private courtyard he stood in. A circular courtyard with an unbroken path surrounding a single tree with flowers. Four benches were strategically placed against the carved walls. Alcoves in the walls held crystal vases of flowers. He wondered if this courtyard was supposed to be private as well, or only accessible to certain people. There was an arched exit opposite him, however, and he hoped it lead to the palace proper, where he could ask for directions back to the bridge connecting the second and third palace called the _llantatan_.

Of course, when Harry emerged into a wide corridor bathed in afternoon sunlight and flecks of prismatic radiance, there was no one around. He chose the direction he guessed to be towards the stables, and walked slowly down the middle of the polished floor.

Perhaps it was coincidence, or perhaps it wasn't, but when Harry reached the end of the corridor and turned into an even larger one, there was Quenah, striding past him. He had to blink a few times, just to check that he was seeing things correctly, then he called out, "_Quenahgóla_!"

Quenah stopped and turned around, glancing around him before his eyes landed on Harry with a puzzled frown. Harry hastily abandoned the wall, but before he could initiate conversation, Quenah gave an elegant bow - the same one at the guard had earlier - and murmured, _"Please excuse me, I am currently busy."_

Harry nodded his head. _"Okay, but I really need to talk to you,"_ he replied, realising belatedly that he had slipped into _Elwýnllambe_. He honestly didn't even notice it, for he found he understood it on such a basic, instinctive level now.

Quenah drew himself up with a stern expression on his face and gazed down at Harry with disapproval. Harry was taken aback by the pose, having never been subjected to such before.

_"Child,"_ began Quenah sternly, _"have your parents not taught you better manners?"_

Harry blinked in shock before he realised - Quenah didn't recognise him! He could have smacked himself.

_"No, no, it's me,"_ Harry said quickly. Quenah simply stared, so Harry plucked at his clothes and asked, _"Don't you recognise me?"_

It took a few moments. At first Harry's tutor looked like he was about to scold Harry again for his poor manners, but when he paused for a moment to really _look_ at Harry he was left with his mouth agape. _"Araëmel!"_

Harry jerked his head up and down rapidly. _"Yes, yes, it's me."_ He then gave the elf a crooked grin.

_"I don't believe it_," breathed Quenah, eyes running down Harry's changed form. _"It's...I mean how? But...last night! I don't understand!"_

Harry shrugged uncomfortably, looking around them. The corridor wasn't exactly crowded, but with elvin hearing, even someone halfway down the corridor was likely to overhear them. _"Can we go somewhere else to talk?"_

Quenah abruptly composed himself, realising he was making a scene. _"Yes...yes, of course. My apologies, Your Highness."_ He tsked at himself. _"Let's find an empty courtyard."_

Harry let Quenah lead him back the way he'd originally come, eventually passing under a wide arch into a much larger, square courtyard. A quick scan of their surroundings proved that no one was about at this time, although Harry thought he heard a couple of faint strains of music floating down from above them.

Quenah glanced up, clearly hearing the same thing. _"We are under the Music Hall."_

_"What's that?"_ asked Harry curiously as Quenah paced his way slowly down a shrub-lined path to a bench in the centre of the courtyard.

_"Just as there is a training grounds for warriors, there is a training grounds for musicians, healers, spellcrafters, potioneers, and so on," _Quenah explained mildly. He stopped at the bench and turned, gesturing with a bow for Harry to seat himself. Once Harry did so, Quenah settled himself beside him and continued, _"I once considered taking up music, but my ultimate passion was for language." _He let out a nostalgic sigh. Suddenly, he fixed Harry with a piercing gaze. _"There are two things I do not understand. First, how you have changed, second, how your language has so miraculously improved."_

_ "I don't really know,"_ Harry admitted. _"Well, I can make an educated guess at the first one. Some kind of delayed reaction, I guess. I reckon all those aches and pains yesterday were because the potion and spell were working, not because it failed."_

_"Ah,"_ Quenah murmured to himself, _"yes, yes, I see. That makes sense. But...this sudden mastery of our language…?"_

Harry could only shrug. Quenah gave an exasperated sigh and mildly rebuked, _"Your Highness, princes do not shrug."_ Harry merely rolled his eyes. _"They do not roll their eyes either. But of course, your etiquette instructor has already informed you of all this, you are merely choosing to disregard it." _He paused for a moment then continued more seriously, _"But, Araëmel, you have to understand that now your skin is gone, you will be expected to act with far more decorum. It is one thing to see a mere human act like a savage, but it is another for our _prince_ to act like a _human_."_

Harry gave a derisive snort, feeling another argument coming on, though he felt only the mildest stirrings of indignation over Quenah's insults, far too used to this kind of racist attitude. _"I'll act like _me_, thank you very much."_

_"And...and this improper use of language!"_ Quenah waved his hands around in graceful agitation. _"Using such common tongue is simply unheard of for one of your rank! Just what will your grandparents think?"_

_"They can _bloodywell_ think whatever they like,"_ Harry grumbled, finding no decent alternative for his preferred swear word, and so slipping into English.

_"Have you forgotten everything I've taught you? You must never speak of yourself so plainly."_

_"Quenah!"_ Harry interrupted crossly, before his tutor could really get the ball rolling, _"Just...drop it for now, okay? Shouldn't you be grateful I even know the language now...however that happened?" _

Quenah looked a little at a loss for words for a moment, gazing with glazed eyes at a row of purple flowers. His ears twitched in thought until finally he shook his head, helpless to answer._"Hmmm…it is most strange..."_

Grateful to have steered the conversation clear of duty, Harry remarked wearily, _"All I know is that I remembered these memories of my childhood really eerily clearly, 'cause I was so frustrated at not understanding anyone or being able to speak. I was really mad, telling myself to just concentrate to remember all your lessons, then the next thing I know I'm remembering my mum and dad and I was able to understand it when they spoke to me in Elwýnllambe. It was the strangest thing."_

Quenah gazed at him in wonderment. _"How extraordinary! I've never heard of a child able to do what you've clearly done."_

Harry fiddled nervously with the cuff of his tunic sleeve. _Oh great, I've gone and done something else no one else has ever done before._ _"What's that?"_ he asked glumly.

_"Well, first I must explain that an Elwý child is much different from its human counterpart. Their brains are far more developed - we use a much larger percentage of our brains than humans do, you understand - even magical humans. What's especially important is that every Elwý child develops a mental bond with its parents - a link if you will - which allows them a greater understanding of the world around them through their parents' minds. Of course, this link eventually fades as the child grows old enough to understand the world around them and speak for themselves, but it is hypothesised that the memories and information that we...what's that word those human muggles use...down-something-"_

"Download?" Harry offered, eyes wide.

"Ah, yes," Quenah muttered to himself. "Yes, that's the word, download." He quirked his lips in amusement, then continued to speak in English. "As I was saying, it is hypothesised that information that we downloaded from our parents remains with us. Perhaps it is this that gives us instinctive control over some of our abilities - it is almost like a genetic memory, I suppose. But...it's also hypothesised that when we reach a certain age - perhaps adulthood, perhaps sooner - that information disappears, replaced by our own experiences. Well, whatever the truth, I believe that you, in your desperation, used your magic to tap into that part of your memories that stored all the language information you 'downloaded' from your parents when you were a baby. Really extraordinary." Quenah shook his head in wonder, smiling warmly at Harry. "Then again, you _are_ the prince, from the line of Caladharan himself, so is it really any surprise at all?"

Harry merely stared at him, astonished. What Quenah was proposing sounded preposterous, and yet...there was a ring of truth to his words. "How do you know so much?" he finally asked.

Quenah sighed. "My cousin is a healer. I used to help her learn."

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence as Harry processed all this. He stared at the ground near his booted feet, eyes tracing the flecks of some kind of crystal embedded in the stone. It reminded him a little of highly polished granite - the kind Aunt Petunia wished she had in her kitchen. Being reminded of Petunia reminded him as well of the way she'd panicked him beforehand, when he'd first been brought to _Elwýn_. She'd scared him with her frantic promises and nervous demeanour, and yet had it really been all that bad?

So maybe his grandparents were a little overbearing - but at least they _did_ care, or they wouldn't have built that garden for his mother. And all these lessons could only end up helping him in the long run. Voldemort wouldn't know what had hit him, if Harry kept up this kind of pace.

Aunt Petunia was probably just trying to ruin another good thing, he decided. Just because she hadn't been happy didn't mean he couldn't be. It was obvious what she wanted was not the same as what Harry wanted anyway.

Besides, it wasn't like he was staying here forever. After the summer, he'd go back to Hogwarts and his friends. He'd worry about the future after he'd defeated Voldemort.

He looked up, stilling his feet which he'd been scuffing against the stone. "So," he said, "now what?"

Quenah stood decisively, an imperceptible flick of his wrist smoothing his clothes. He switched back to elvish. _"We visit with their Majesties, to inform them of this development. They will want to stop their research and focus on other duties now. I am sure they will be most pleased."_ He waited patiently for Harry to stand as well, but before they left the courtyard, he reminded his young charge, _"Just remember to mind your manners. Do you remember the formal language I've been teaching you? Do not fall back into easier, more common patterns, or they will be most displeased."_

Harry barely held in his groan. Not this again! He'd hoped Quenah had forgotten! Keeping to English, he complained, "It's just stupid though! I mean, it's like asking me to go around referring to myself as, 'I, the Prince,' or, 'my esteemed self' all the time!"

Quenah only looked scandalised. "Your Highness, it's not-"

"-not the same, yeah, I get it. English can't be compared with _Elwýnllambe_, because it's far too complex, with way too many intricacies, blah blah," Harry finished for him, having heard this speech before.

Quenah flushed and muttered something Harry nearly didn't catch, but he was sure he must have misheard, because surely proper, stuffy-shirt Quenah hadn't just called him an 'impertinent brat'?

"Alright!" Harry cried, giving in. "Honestly!"

Quenah cleared his expression and ran smoothing fingers down his shirt laces. "Your Highness is most gracious."Then, while Harry was trying to figure out whether or not that had been sarcasm, he added, in _Elwýnllambe_ this time, _"Also, it is best if we do not use English any more, Your Highness. While you might now have the knowledge of this language, there is still much you likely did not absorb from your parents - customs, speciality vocabulary, place names. Moreover, it is clear that you now have a tendency to slip into less polite speech patterns, so you will need to retrain yourself. Sometimes instinct can be a burden, as well as a boon."_

Harry really did sigh this time. He did that a lot these days. _"Fine, fine."_

_ "No," _Quenah correctly, gently this time, _"you say, 'I understand'." _He fell silent and looked at Harry expectantly, until Harry realised Quenah wanted him to repeat his words.

_ "I understand."_ He barely got them out without a sneer.

Quenah nodded and turned on his heel, striding smoothly towards the exit.

They took the transportation tower. Walking quickly through the corridors, but not quite running to reach the throne room before the king and queen went into council, which Quenah claimed they did at three hours before the evening meal. Harry calculated this to be about four o'clock human time. Mornings, Quenah explained as they went, were dedicated to public business and to the 'Court'. The day Harry and Petunia had arrived, Court had not yet been in session, so Harry had never actually _seen_ any of the so-called aristocracy.

The entire business sounded terribly complicated and not something Harry would ever understand. He truthfully wanted nothing to do with it, but he had yet to voice this out loud.

When they got to the throne room, Quenah had to announce himself to the guards. He hesitated at Harry, deciding that he was better off not seen in such a state (in other words, in filthy clothes and covered in dirt and sweat), and relegated his charge to the wall next to the great double doors. Other elves hoping to enter and speak with their monarchs milled around the large antechamber, dressed from everything to the simple clothes Harry was wearing to some of the most lavish outfits he'd ever laid eyes on. As he waited, he watched them drift amongst each other like jewelled butterflies, barely speaking and not making eye-contact. Eventually, a few of the more finely dressed _Elwý_ began to eyeball Harry and his mussed appearance, but before anyone could start pointing fingers, Quenah remerged and beckoned for Harry to follow him.

Harry glanced over his shoulder as they left and got a small glimpse of glittering clothes and wispy movements from within the throne room, before the large doors were shut again.

_"They're sending for the tailor again to meet you in your room,"_ Quenah told Harry as they walked. _"She'll create a full wardrobe for you now."_

_"Great,"_ muttered Harry, just wishing that he could have some _normal_ clothes for once. Those waist sashes were far too much trouble than they were worth.

_"Then, you will join them for dinner,"_ continued his tutor, _"and they will discuss the rest of the changes to be made now that your 'skin' is out of the way."_

This part made Harry slightly nervous - what would they do? What new things would he be expected to learn or participate in?

_No,_ he told himself firmly, _stop it. You have to be serious now. Learn as much as possible. Hone your skills, abilities and knowledge and find a way to battle Voldemort. Your life and those of the wizarding world depend on it._

It was a heavy thought, and it made Harry's stomach twist. But it wasn't anything he wasn't already accustomed to. He would treat this just like any other of his little adventures. This one just had a bit...more...at stake.

They reached his rooms and Harry had to be reintroduced to the guards so they'd let him in in the future. Harry wasn't entirely sure how, but when they entered, the tailor was already there, waiting. Word must travel fast in the palace and she must have been a lot closer to the tower than Harry and Quenah.

This time when she saw Harry, she bowed low and didn't give him strange looks, only the appropriate reverent greetings. Before they did anything else, Harry was sent to the bathroom to wash the dirt from his hands and face, and to change into a new shirt. When he returned five minutes later, a large three-sided mirror had mysteriously appeared and the tailor made him stand on a stool in front of it as she measured him and held up scraps of fabric to his skin and eyes. It took far longer than last time not only because she was preparing to create for him a full-fledged wardrobe, but also because she kept asking his permission and opinion on everything she did. Harry honestly didn't know the first thing about fashion - especially elvin fashion - and so stuttered through a lot of awkward 'I don't know's and 'whatever you think is best's. The rest of the time he stood patiently, holding back his desire to sigh every so often. At the very least she wasn't poking and prodding him with pins like Madam Malkin sometimes did.

When she finally left, Harry collapsed back in a chair and finally sighed, long and loudly. Quenah chuckled.

_"Is Your Highness tired?"_ he asked with amusement.

Harry rolled his eyes and nodded.

_"Well, then, my Prince, might I suggest in the meantime we review Elwýntencelle?"_

Harry perked up. The Elvish writing system was just so _cool_ looking. He couldn't wait to finally be able to write in it.

_"Yeah,"_ he agreed.

_"Yes,"_ Quenah corrected.

Harry merely groaned.

* * *

_Chapter a looong time coming. You can thank a dedicated reader that this was uploaded today. This if for you Yana5...And all the rest of you out there that are still sticking by my terrible updating schedule! Honestly, I'm giving you all permission to bug me about uploading chapters. If you've read my profile and it says I'm close to finishing a new chapter or it's in the editing stages...give me that extra push to put it up._

_So, again, RL updates are on profile, explaining why my soul has been consumed by everyday dreariness. And also why I haven't had much of an opportunity to write fanfiction lately. For those that do NaNoWriMo, I've got a profile set up there under the same name. If you're not convinced as to why I'm busy as hell, just come watch that word count total go up. It's just about week 3 and so far I've written just shy of 71,000words. Go me._

_Any feedback on this updated version of chapter 7 would be welcome. As you can see, starting from chapter 6 things are changing. I'm adding a lot of new material and it's just going to keep changing from here on out. Of course, some key plot elements will remain the same, but for the most part, much of the character interaction and dialogue will be tweaked or completely re-written. Please please please let me know what you think of the changes, the new characterisation, etc...all feedback, good or bad, is half the reason I put my stories up at all, instead of simply selfishly hoarding them for me and my sister :P_

_Sorry about the wait. Can't promise anything new until after NaNoWriMo finishes. I'll try to get chapter 8 out in early December. That's as far as I can tentatively promise._

_Thanks for reading!_

_xoxoRia_

_Posted: Nov. 18, 2011_


	8. New Bonds

_Ex Sanguis Version 2.0 chapter changes: grammar, syntax, descriptive elements, major scene editing/cutting, new scenes - do not skip.  
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**Chapter 8: New Bonds**

The meeting with his grandparents went every bit as awkwardly as he thought it would. It started off very formally, despite the settings. They were sitting in their living room with what could only be the elvish equivalent of a cup of afternoon tea when Harry was shown through the door - without Quenah. And that's what had his heart thumping. Quenah had been an almost constant companion for the past week, and he had grown reliant on his reassuring presence.

The queen stood the second she saw Harry and walked over, reaching out and gripping his chin - for once actually touching him. He stiffened. She turned his head slightly and ran her bright green eyes along his face. Then she stepped back and took in the rest of him. She smiled. It was a satisfied smile, like a cat that had nabbed the canary, yet still had a few feathers sticking out of its mouth. Harry shivered slightly.

_ "Perfect," _she murmured. _"You are very handsome; the perfect picture of a prince."_

Harry wasn't sure what to make of this. Did pointy ears and weird eyes suddenly make him look that much better?

The king approached, coming up behind his queen, and she turned to look at him. _"Is he not?"_ she asked, though really the question was rhetorical.

A second pair of eyes flickered up and down Harry's body. _"Yes, indeed," _agreed his grandfather.

_ "And he has your chin,"_ mused the queen.

Harry couldn't help but stare at the king's chin, trying to find the resemblance and wondering if his chin had honestly changed that much.

_ "But looks very much like his father,"_ added the king. The queen nodded in agreement. _"Dresses like him, too,"_ he said dryly. _"That boy was too fond of the woods."_

Harry perked up, eager to hear anything about his father that he hadn't known before. Fond of the woods? Weren't all elves?

_"He had the gift,"_ the queen reminded her husband absently. _"It was only natural." _She turned to Harry. _"You have not inherited his gift so there will be no excuse for an unruly appearance."_ She stepped away suddenly and returned to her seat in a floating cloud of gauzy fabric and glittering crystal, her husband two steps behind. With the way she always took control, Harry was beginning to think that she had been the crown princess, and the king had married into the royal family. She caught Harry's eye and gestured to the chair across from theirs._ "Be seated."_

Harry sat.

There were a few moments of silence. Harry shifted awkwardly. Now what?

_ "I am pleased that we have sorted out this mess. Now we can begin your true education, and properly announce you to the land,"_ declared his grandmother after a sip of her drink, her voice and words so formal that Harry's back automatically straightened. He wanted to fidget, but only just refrained. He wondered what she meant by 'true education' and hoped it didn't involve affairs of state. He was rubbish at that sort of thing.

_"We will increase your physical training and circulate your morning routine," _continued the queen. _"You will need to study literature, current and past politics, economics, music, dance, and magic on top of your current studies."_

Harry gaped.

_"That is unseemly,"_ the king told him sternly, but he couldn't smooth out his expression.

_ "B-but,"_ he managed.

The queen put down her glass and raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not impressed with his inarticulation.

_"That's so _much_,"_ he finally managed weakly.

_"You are the crown prince. It is your duty and you will do it."_ There was no room for argument in his grandfather's voice.

_"What if I don't _want_ to be the stupid crown prince?" _he couldn't help but mutter under his breath.

Harry realised his mistake moments after the words left his mouth. The air grew unnaturally still and the hairs on the back of his neck and arms prickled. He remembered Aunt Petunia's warning in that moment: keep your head down and _don't make them angry_.

Harry froze in nervous anticipation. What was going to happen? Would he have to make a run for it? Adrenaline surged as all his muscles tensed.

The queen rose sharply from her seat, her eyes glowing brighter than normal and crinkled in rage. Tendrils of her hair waved around her face, like Medusa's serpents. She was like something out of a horror movie. _"How _dare_ you speak to us that way."_ She didn't yell, but the low, hissed voice was even worse. It reminded Harry of when Aunt Petunia would get into one of her rages and lock him in the cupboard. _"You _will_ do your duty and you _will_ do it with grace and composure. You will be the best because you must be the best, because it is in your blood and _I will not tolerate _anything less. Is that understood, child?"_

Harry thought for one moment about arguing back, but the way the air in the room seemed to be choking him, holding him down, changed his mind. It scared him, this invisible power and presence his grandmother had.

For now, he decided, it was best to simply go with the flow. He needed to be Slytherin about this - not brash. Right now, in this alien world, he had only himself to rely on, no allies or friends for back-up...at least, not yet. Maybe once he'd figured things out a bit, he could make a stand, but for now…

_"I said, is that understood!" _

Harry jumped in fright at the shout. _"Y-yes."_

The queen narrowed her eyes at him. _"Yes, what?"_

Harry was briefly stumped, but the way the question was voiced reminded him of all those times Snape had jumped down his throat for not addressing him properly. ('Yes, _sir_, Potter!') _"Yes...Your Majesty."_

The queen seemed satisfied and reseated herself delicately in a flutter of gossamer threads. Nonchalantly, she added, _"Do not think you will not be punished for disobedience, Araëmel."_

Harry's rebellious nature reared its ugly head again, but he swallowed down the retort with great effort. He took a deep breath and let it out. He set his expression and told himself to suck it up and try his best. Maybe if he did learn all this rubbish some of it would be helpful. He could save lives by learning as much as he could. For now, he would do this so that more innocent people wouldn't have to go through the pain of losing loved ones.

_"Fine,"_ he said. _"I'll do my...best."_

He thought the reassurance would appease them. Instead, his grandparents' expressions turned even sourer.

The king regained himself first. _"That is another thing: no grandson of mine will refer to himself in such a common way. You will comport yourself with more grace and bearing. You are the c_rown prince_, second to none but your grandmother and I. Is this understood?" _

Harry ducked his head to hide his glower. It was one bloody thing after another! At this rate, he was going to explode and start smashing things.

_"You were asked a question, Araëmel-arýon,"_ said the queen in a soft, dangerous voice.

_"I understand,"_ Harry said stiffly, and as formally as he could manage. The formality did not come naturally, for all that he could understand it, and he had to search for the right words and phrases, things Quenah had been teaching him before his change.

They both looked only mildly satisfied, but the queen tilted her head elegantly in acknowledgement. The silver bangles in her hair glinted in the light. _"Very well, then,"_ she said, as if they had never been having anything but a pleasant conversation the entire while. _"We will arrange a new schedule and find the best tutors for you. However, for the next few days, we must make sure you are properly presentable. We must also arrange a celebration in your honour, to announce your presence to the land."_

Harry wasn't liking the sound of that. That sounded even more torturous than all the lessons combined.

_"The tailor has seen to you?"_ asked the king.

Harry nodded grumpily. _"Yes...she came earlier."_

_"Good," _responded the queen sharply. _"She will send up your new wardrobe over the next week and you will need to set aside time for adjustments. I think we shall have the more formal pieces come last, the most practical first. We also need to fit your circlet."_

_Circlet?_ Thought Harry blankly.

_"Then we must deal with the matter of succession, but that will come at a later date."_

Harry didn't like the sound of that either. For some reason it struck him as a bit ominous. Was it not a sure thing that he would inherit, or was it just a matter of formality?

_Maybe I can talk my way out of it…_

He doubted it, but at least he could dream.

Fortunately, after a brief pause in talking, his grandparents suddenly decided it was time for dinner and the next thing he knew they were sweeping towards the dining room. He lagged behind, watching their fancy, royal backs with a great heaping of resentment. He was very hungry by this point, but he wasn't sure he wanted to be in the same room as the two overbearing monarchs anymore. They were nothing like real grandparents should be. If not for the fact that their stupid potions had worked and he'd discovered those hidden memories, he might have been questioning whether or not they were actually related. Then again, with his track record in relatives, why was he even surprised? It was no wonder why Aunt Petunia was such a sour, resentful woman.

The queen entered the room and sat down, but the king stopped to have a quiet word with one of the servants who was silently placing dishes on the round table. Harry didn't hear what was said, despite his now quite excellent hearing, and deduced that there must be some sort of magic involved. He hadn't seen any hand movements or heard any incantations, so he wondered how the king had managed it.

He sat down hesitantly, and as soon as the king had joined them, they started eating.

Dinner was sumptuous, as always, and he consumed rather a lot of food, despite his mood. It was awkward, with the remnants of their angry words hovering over his head. He didn't exactly want to start any conversations, but he was forced to give brief explanations of his progress in class and his comings and goings. After a highly edited version of last night and that morning, the queen smiled again (something Harry had come to associate with trouble)._ "You show much talent, both in fighting and magic. You will be a strong warrior and powerful mage,"_ she declared with satisfaction.

Well, that was encouraging at least. Maybe he had a chance against Voldemort after all.

Dinner was finished in relative silence after that, broken only when the _buimúl_ servants mysteriously appeared to clear the table. Harry watched them warily, wondering what they had done to swear their lives in servitude to the king and queen themselves.

If Harry thought that was the last if it, he was sorely mistaken. They left the dining room and went back to his quarters. He had expected Quenah to be there, waiting, but he wasn't, increasing Harry's unease. Surely they weren't getting rid of Quenah now that he seemed to be able to speak _Elwýnllambe _fluently? He didn't think so, since the elf was still teaching him the written language, and his formal language still left much to be desired.

No sooner had they settled down into seats again, when a new elf appeared with two strangely dressed servants carrying an ornate box. They wore the same torque necklace of the other servants, but were dressed like guards and carried a pair of long daggers belted at the waist. The box they carried between them must have been very important.

The lead elf, dressed quite finely, dropped to one knee, bowed his head and uttered a long string of formal greetings to all present. All three elves waited on their knees with their heads lowered, without moving a muscle, and Harry fidgeted impatiently. Finally, the queen murmured, _"You may rise, master goldsmith." _

The so-named master goldsmith straightened, a few strands of his dark brown hair floating into his eyes only to be caught by a mysterious force and put gently back in place. He focused large, unblinking brown eyes on Harry. Harry, in turn, felt rather like a bug under a microscope.

Bowing again to the two monarchs, the goldsmith murmured reverently, _"I [this unworthy one] have brought the Crown of the Heir, Your Most Esteemed Majesties, as requested. If this unworthy one might be so bold as to request confirmation, is this indeed our future King who sits before me, son of our most beloved Indilaira-aránelle?"_

The words echoed a ridiculous amount of formality in Harry's opinion, catching him off guard. He supposed the tailor had also been rather formal, but not quite to this extent. He cast a glance at his grandparents in surprise - were they really going to demand that level of respect? It was almost scary.

_"I will permit it, master goldsmith,"_ said the queen, sounding regal and commanding, like she was sitting on her throne instead of a couch in Harry's room. _"Your prince, Araëmel-aryón. Returned to us after much searching and hardship."_

The elf practically beamed and dropped to one knee again in front of Harry, murmuring his name rather reverently. It made Harry extremely uncomfortable.

_"I [this unworthy one] will begin fitting immediately, with Your Majesties' permission,"_ said the goldsmith after he had finished his bowing.

The queen gave her permission (again), and the servant-guards brought the box forward, setting it on the low table, facing all three of them. Another placed a delicate key on the table and stepped back. Harry had begun to suspect what was going on by then, but he held his breath just to be certain as his grandfather unlocked the box and opened the lid. Sure enough, inside on a moulded resting place was a delicate circlet of gold.

It was a crown. He was getting a _crown_.

It was almost like the sight of the gold band, resting in its box, finally destroyed any last, tiny delusions or doubts he was having. That crown was a symbol of royalty...and it was going on _his_ head.

Well, wasn't that just peachy.

Honestly, he really didn't want it. And honestly, he didn't really get a choice in the matter.

_"The Crown of the Male Heir,"_ said the goldsmith solemnly.

Did that mean there was another one for a female heir? His mother's crown perhaps?

The crown was actually quite pleasant to look at. It was similar in design to the king's circlet, which was a tad more ornate. The whole thing flowed seamlessly together. The gold woven around the main band branched into thinner strands which looped and curled and angled down in a delicate weave Harry feared might bend or snap, but the crown shone with an inner light that led him to believe magic might be involved.

Harry was ordered to stand, and the goldsmith picked up the crown reverently, without actually touching it, to place it on Harry's head. In Harry's opinion, this was all very monumental and important, but no one else seemed bothered by the lack of ceremony. Perhaps there was a more formal one later. It probably wouldn't have been very sophisticated if the crown had slipped down over his forehead during said ceremony either, which was probably why it was being fitted beforehand.

Surprisingly, the gold was a lot lighter than he had been expecting, though the whole weight of the metal band rested heavily and uncomfortably on his brow. Then again, that might have had something to do with the fact that it had started to slip a bit and now almost covered his eyes. He quickly reached up a hand and pushed it back up again, scowling slightly. The goldsmith observed this and made a few humming and hawing noises in the back of his throat. Then, after he had received Harry's permission, he removed the crown and set it back down in its box.

_"It is too big. I estimate a finger's width needs to be taken off the length, Your Majesties,"_ he said, gesturing to the back of the crown, where the gold became just a simple, thicker band, without any extra flourishes.

_"Do so immediately,"_ responded the queen.

The goldsmith bowed deeply and shut the lid of the box. The king locked it again and the servants came forward to take it away. The goldsmith left not soon after.

Harry feared that there might have been even more in store for him, but apparently there were no more surprises left for the early evening, and his grandparents took their leave. He had to bow them out, and when he was alone with no one to keep him company for what remained of the day, he flopped back down on the couch with a loud and un-princely groan. Then he had to wonder just what in Merlin's name did they expect him to do to occupy himself?

If only Ron or Hermione were here, they could go exploring together. Then, he thought of Meldir. He was the first person his age Harry had met and he seemed nice enough. Though he might have already screwed up any chances of friendship, it wouldn't hurt to at least try to apologise. He glanced out at the approaching dusk, wondering if it were already too late to go in search of the other elf.

In the end he decided it couldn't hurt just to go wandering... with a purpose. If he found Meldir, good, but if not, at least he was memorising the lay of the castle. He left his room, and it was only after he'd bypassed the guards and was making his way down the numerous flights of stairs that he realised he had no idea where to even start looking for Meldir. He scowled and hooked his thumbs over his belt as he stopped and glanced around. Where on earth were all the living quarters anyway? He couldn't 'conveniently' bump into him without knowing what area in which to 'conveniently' be in the first place.

As part of his etiquette lessons, the witch-teacher had given him a very brief run-down of living quarters as ordained by social standing. Since he was almost positive Meldir was from the Lower House, he knew not to search the section he was currently in, but that still left the much larger second and third palaces. Probably the third, if the boy's manner of speech was any indication.

Harry's scowl deepened. It was a bloody trek that way….but it would eat up time.

It took the predicted age and a half to reach the first palace, and he eventually found himself stopping in the middle of a vast corridor peppered with the sparkle of the early evening sun. Sure, that was one problem solved, but he still had no idea where to find Meldir. It was unfortunate, but he didn't know the other boy's address, just his name…

Harry's thoughts trailed off with sudden clarity. He might not know Meldir's address, but he knew the other boy's House name, and wasn't that good enough? All he had to do was ask the right person and surely they could point him in the right direction?

As it turned out, the House of Noiar ranked _very_ low on the ladder of prestige, because the first two elvin women he asked both wrinkled their noses and pointed him in the direction of the lowest level of the palace. He knew, though vaguely, that the closer to the ground and the outside walls you were, the less influence you wielded. So that probably explained Meldir's earlier reticence.

Eventually he reached the beginnings of the last section of palace apartments, those delegated to the Houses when they stayed at the Capital, but this was as far as the imprecise directions could take him. Now it would be up to him to figure out the right apartment.

Fortunately, fate seemed to have his best interests at heart for once because not a minute after he'd stood hesitating at the mouth of the corridor, a young elf he thought he recognised came striding purposefully towards him. He racked his brain, trying to place the tall female, and finally realised that she had been one of the fighters in Melcacrist's class earlier that morning. Merlin, what was her name? Tasha? Tessa?

While he was busy trying to remember her name, he realised that she was passing him by.

_"Wait!"_ he quickly called out, running after her retreating figure.

At first she didn't break stride or turn around, but when Harry called out again, she glanced curiously over her shoulder and spotted him hurrying up to her.

_"Yes?" _she asked uncertainly.

She was actually quite pretty, he noticed - light blonde hair, clear blue eyes, and a delicate face. However, she also exuded a very strong presence and her expression clearly stated that she wouldn't take any sort of nonsense. He stopped in front of her and smiled uncertainly. Her lips did not return his smile, rather her eyes studied him, brows furrowing quizzically, like she was trying to place him. After a few moments of awkward silence, recognition dawned and her expression shuttered. She dipped into a stiff, but still flawless bow. _"My Lord. How may I be of service?"_ She hid her distaste well, but Harry was very skilled in determining when someone wished him ill. And this girl clearly did - was this all really because he'd torn a gouge in the training arena earlier...or was it something more? Some other social faux pas he'd committed that he didn't even know about?

_"Hi," _he said nervously, awkwardly, _"I, um, I forgot your name..."_

A small, puzzled look flitted across her face, ears twitching to betray her shock, as if Harry had done something unexpected. She straightened from the bow all the Unnamed were supposed to give to those of an Upper House and stared at him like he'd grown horns and a tail. Harry belatedly realised he'd been using a common form of speech and merely smiled sheepishly.

_"My...name is Taswa,"_ she responded calculating. There was no mistaking the slight emphasis she put on the pause after her name, as if to say 'Yes, I have no House, yet I am proud!' Then she waited for his response, still analysing him with her sharp eyes.

_"Taswa,"_ Harry repeated, remembering now that she'd reminded him. _"Right. Um, I'm looking for Meldir o'Noiar, do you know where he lives?"_

His request clearly put her on edge, because she took a small step back, as if putting distance between them would help her better evaluate his request. Her ears went down. She hesitated, but perhaps it was his use of informal speech, or perhaps the way he hadn't reacted to her lack of House, but she actually dared to ask, _"Might I inquire as to the nature of your business with him?"_

Harry recognised on some distant level that she was being incredibly impertinent. He recognised it only because part of him could envision his etiquette teacher's reaction to such a response directed towards someone of his 'station'...and it wasn't pretty. But Harry honestly didn't care about all this fuss over formality, so he ignored the slight, and replied as if it had never occurred, _"I'd like to set the record straight about earlier."_

Taswa's shoulders, which had been so stiff and tense as to resemble a marble statue, finally relaxed. She gazed at him with open curiosity, clearly confused at the mixed signals he was sending her, but his lack of malicious retaliation had won her over, because she quirked a small smile. _"You mean about kicking up such a fuss earlier?"_ she actually seemed to tease.

Harry flushed in embarrassment. Great, just great.

She laughed, noticing his flustered expression and the way his ears had drooped slightly. _"You have managed to ruffle a few feathers, you know. I find myself most curious. But you wished to speak with Mel? Follow me, I will take you there."_

Harry hurried to stop her. _"Oh, no, you don't have to do that. Just point me in the right direction."_

She blinked in surprise, ears twitching. Then she smirked and grinned slightly. _"I am actually on my way to see him. You may follow me."_

_"Oh,"_ said Harry, now the one surprised. Well, that was certainly convenient. Fate really did seem to be trying to make up for the past week. _"Yeah, okay, thanks."_

His thanks surprised her yet again, but neither chose to comment on it. Instead, he fell into step with her when she began to walk again. Together they headed down the corridor meant to accommodate those of the House Noiar.

Their journey was a silent one. Taswa did not seem inclined to start chatting and Harry had no idea what to say. It should have been more awkward than it was, but Taswa's ground eating strides made talking seem a little superfluous and Harry was content merely to keep pace. It was a sad state of affairs when even the girls his age were taller than him. Hopefully when he went back to the Wizarding World he'd be able to keep his new height and at least there he knew he would be about as tall as Ron. And Ron was quickly turning into a giant.

Harry spent a moment or two contemplating whether or not it was possible for the Weasley's to have Giant blood, because their entire family was ridiculously tall. He abandoned his flight of fancy however when Taswa abruptly stopped at a single, delicately carved wooden door. They'd passed at least four others on the way down, but the corridor was a long one and they were spaced far apart. This one had carvings of a river and trees and a small spire-like tower. The edges were decorated in what looked like some kind of plant woven together in an intricate border. Carved into the marble wall in _Elwýntencelle_ that Harry could only barely puzzle out were the words: _Tu'Cearth o'Noiar_. This meant, if he was reading it right, 'The Lower House of Noiar'. He thought it was kind of sad that they actually had to distinguish whether or not the House in question was considered Upper or Lower.

Taswa did not seem to find any interest in the carved door, nor the name on the wall. Rather, she simply knocked twice and stepped back to wait. Harry hovered behind her shoulder nervously, only now realising he didn't know what he wanted to say. Just apologise and then say 'Alright then?' like he would with Ron? Somehow that probably wasn't going to cut it.

The door swung open to a tall, beautiful elf woman. She was dressed simply - for an _Elwý_ at least - but the plain blue dress with bronze stitching suited her chestnut hair and smiling face quite well. He jerked when she spoke, and quickly stopped staring.

_"Taswa, how nice of you to visit."_ It was obvious she knew Taswa, because they then exchanged rather familiar greeting phrases that Harry had been taught were only to be used between acquaintances of relatively the same social level...of which Taswa was clearly not, which further denoted a very deep friendship. He watched the exchange with satisfaction at having figured out one of those unspoken social signals everyone expected him to automatically know. He was learning, clearly.

The two women both turned to stare at him. Taswa looked suddenly uncertain, and he realised it was because he had never properly introduced himself.

Taswa's friend made the first move. She curtsied, hand over her heart in a gesture of respect to an unknown and possibly higher ranking personage, and introduced herself quite prettily, _"Greetings on this bright day. I welcome this new relationship, and the knowledge of mutual acquaintance. From my heart, I offer you my name and knowledge; I am Eruahna o'Noiar."_

Harry wasn't quite sure how to respond. He thought she might be part of Meldir's family, his mother perhaps, or a sister, and while he'd treated Meldir quite casually (okay, quite badly, to be honest), this kind of greeting warranted a more formal response. Unfortunately, Harry's etiquette teacher had never seen fit to teach him how to actually perform most of the set greeting phrases meant for lesser Nobles to use, only recognise those that were directed at him (_"I do not understand why Your Royal Highness wishes to know how to perform bows Your Royal Highness shall never have need to perform!"_). So either he could try to imitate her and make a fool out of himself, or respond with his usual condescending head nod and make them nervous with his lack of expected response.

What to do, what to do! All this social stratification was going to drive him to distraction! It was so incredibly stressful and so...so..._Slytherin!_ Why couldn't things be simple where all you had to do was tell someone your name, shake hands and be done with it?

In the end he honestly had no choice but to settle for a deeper-than-normal head nod and the words, _"My name is Araëmel. Nice to meet you too."_

When all he received was silence and incomprehension, he knew he'd made a poor choice in greeting, but he honestly didn't know what else to do! This was just so frustrating! Next time he saw her, he was going to _demand_ that sour-faced etiquette witch teach him how to do the bows, whether she liked it or not!

In order to cut through the deepening shock, Harry hastily spat out his reason for being there. _"I'm here to see Meldir, if that's okay?"_

Eruahna merely blinked at him with further incomprehension. Harry's manner of speech did not match his lack of propriety and neither of the two matched his clothing.

Growing more and more uncomfortable, Harry shifted on his feet and added in a babble, _"If you're busy, that's fine. I can come back another time. I just wanted to talk to Meldir, because I think he thinks I'm mad at him or something or don't want to be his friend, which is wrong, because I do. Want to be his friend, that is. Er…"_

Something about the way he babbled must have put Eruahna at ease because she suddenly peered at him with a sort of indulgent smile. _"My, you're young,"_ she said, as if this explained everything. She flashed a glance at Taswa, who gave a little rolling shrug and cocked her head to the side.

_"I would be glad to invite you into our humble House,"_ Eruahna spoke, still with that odd little indulgent smile. She stepped aside and gestured inside with a soft head bob. Harry glanced quickly at Taswa, only to find the other girl watching him intently. Creepy. He stepped inside slowly, looking around at his first glimpse of normal elvin living quarters.

Elvin houses, or apartments in this case, were just like their fancier human counterparts. The initial room was much like a foyer, with doors and archways leading to new rooms and a set of spiral stairs at the very end of a long corridor, which no doubt led to an upstairs. The whole place was quite a bit larger and more open-aired than most human dwellings - the archways wider and the windows at the end open to the elements. Eruahna lead them through one of the arches and a warm, gentle breeze blew through what Harry figured to be the equivalent of a living room. Looking around with interest, Harry noted that the colour scheme in Meldir's apartment favoured blue, in contrast to his own green. Personally he preferred green, but the blue was very soothing.

Eruahna curtseyed Harry over to a beige settee in the living room (or perhaps it was a greeting room? Who knew). Taswa sat down comfortably, so Harry followed suit, still looking around at the pale tapestries on the walls, and the...was that an indoor trellis? Those flowers certainly smelled real! They wound around one of the open window arches and crept up to the ceiling. It was beautiful and gave the impression that there was no real separation from nature.

Eruahna politely excused herself, disappearing through a covered arch with soft, light footfalls along the pale, crème fur that served as a rug. Perhaps one or two minutes later, Harry was surprised to see a _buimúl _servant duck into the room, carrying refreshments. The servant's torque was different than the ones that served his grandparents. The collar was very simple and her clothing was almost peasant like. But she was just as efficient and silent as any other servant, setting the refreshments down and retreating like a shadow. Two minutes after that, Eruahna returned, Meldir in tow.

When the other boy saw Harry, his eyes widened comically and he halted in the archway. Harry found himself quickly standing, ready to blurt out an apology, but his mind finally caught up to his mouth in time to realise that apologising properly was another thing he'd never been taught because the stupid crown prince _never_ apologised to anyone other than the king and queen...and there was no way he could use _that_ particular phrase. He'd send them all into apoplectic shock.

Meldir's...sister? mother? solved both their problem for them, by nudging the younger elf to go sit down on the opposite settee. Meldir did so stiffly, eyes down and mouth grim, like he was expecting something terrible. He waited until Harry had slowly sunk back down again before sitting. Then, when they were all four of them seated and waiting awkwardly in silence, he broke it with a quiet, _"Am I to pay retribution for my earlier misconduct?"_

Eruahna gave out a little, soft gasp, eyes darting between Meldir and Harry in clear bewilderment. Taswa merely frowned.

Harry gulped. This was already going terribly. He quickly put down the crystal glass he'd been tensely holding in one hand and then used both appendages to make a 'no, no' gesture. _"You've got it all wrong! Honest! I'm not mad or upset or anything...okay, well, I mean I _was_ upset, but not at you! At…"_ he waved a hand in a random direction, _"_them_." _

Meldir finally glanced up, looking surprised. _"What?"_ he blurted, then flushed at his rudeness. But Harry's reassurances had emboldened him, because he added, _"But you were so mad!"_

_ "Meldir!"_ Eruahna rebuked. She obviously had no idea what had transpired (quite frankly, _Harry_ still had no idea exactly what had transpired), but she clearly was very mindful of her manners, and with Harry's identity still unknown, she obviously didn't want to take any chances.

_"Sorry,"_ Meldir threw at his sister quickly. He leaned towards Harry, eyes bright, _"But, I mean, it's true. You were really, really angry...you tried to slice up Déluaë, Lócen, Amotalion...and everything! But Master Melcacrist didn't say a word! And then you ran off and you wouldn't talk to me, and…"_ Meldir trailed off at the furious look Eruahna was giving him. _"And I wish to humbly request an explanation,"_ he finished quickly with reticence.

Next to Harry, Taswa shifted in anticipation, and he suddenly realised that she had probably been coming over to gossip about _him_. It figured. He'd really messed up their lesson earlier and it was only natural that she'd want an explanation. But the thought that all those other kids would be gossiping about him too...was there no escape from that madness? At least reporters didn't seem to exist over here, or he'd probably never leave his room!

But right here, right now, he owed Meldir an explanation. Before anyone could say anything else, he began to clarify. _"Earlier...okay, so, I had a really bad morning. I didn't plan on interrupting the lesson or anything, but I was in a bad mood and needed to clear my head. Master Melcacrist figured it would help if I sparred you, I guess, and it was working too, except that those-" _and here Harry used a word he'd picked up from the aforementioned teacher which he thought loosely translated to 'mindless-beast', "-_those_ radag'lüst _insulted my mother and _no one_ insults my mother!" _Harry knew his expression had darkened and he tried to smooth out the glare forming on his face. Meldir's eyes were already wide enough, mouth open in a gape. _"Anyway, that pissed me off, so I left, and I was still pissed off when you came to find me, and I was frustrated over...something...and anyway, the point is I shouldn't have been like that, but I was, but I don't want you to think you did anything wrong or that I'm mad at you, because I'm not. I'm mad at those _radag'lüst." He stopped, took a deep breath to calm himself down and let go of his returning anger. Then, before he could think about it, he added, _"If you don't mind, can we be friends?" _It was direct, a little bold, certainly something Harry had never had cause to utter before. He'd always just...grown into being friends with people. But this time he had the feeling he would need to be a lot more assertive about the matter, else elvin custom wouldn't yield the kind of friendship he wanted. Anything to make his stay here a bit more tolerable, at least.

While the three _Elwý _were processing everything he'd just said, Harry nervously picked up his glass again and concentrated on taking a sip of sweet water. Staring down at the pretty crystal glass was a lot easier than watching the emotions on Meldir and Taswa's faces.

Finally, Meldir stuttered, _"F-friend?"_

Eruahna let out a small, tinkling giggle and quickly covered her mouth, hiding her smile. Harry's gaze darted up to her then over to Meldir. He shrugged, _"Yeah, if you want?"_

Meldir's eyes were wider than saucepans. _"Y-yes! Please! Of course! I'm honoured!" _

Harry grinned in relief. Stuffy customs aside, he could tell Meldir honestly thought well of his request. He quickly turned to Taswa, so as not to leave her out, despite that he thought she might not think all that highly of him, _"You too, if you like?"_

Taswa raised an eyebrow. _"Friends? With an Unnamed?" _

_Ah, right,_ thought Harry, _there's some stupid stigma about rank. _He rolled his eyes. _"I don't care."_

Taswa chose her next words very carefully. She stared at him challengingly the entire time, as if daring him to get angry, _"You are strange. Your manner of speech is at odds with your dress and your lack of etiquette, but I get the overall impression you are not Unnamed."_ They were the boldest words she had uttered yet, and Harry envisioned his etiquette teacher having a hernia. But he couldn't begrudge Taswa's suspicion, because he was being awfully tight-lipped about his House. But he knew the moment they knew who he was, he'd no longer have any chance of getting them to interact normally with him. No, it was best he keep things in the dark, than to risk losing a chance at normalcy.

Because here, for once, he wasn't Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived...but Araëmel, unknown elf. Sure, he was the crown prince (apparently), but there was no one waiting for him to fail, just so they could point and laugh and say 'I told you he was no good!' And as long as Meldir and Taswa and everyone else didn't know he was the prince, he could simply be Just Harry. He liked being Just Harry.

_"No,"_ he finally agreed with a sigh, _"I'm not, but I'd prefer not to divulge that information."_

_ "That is not customary,"_ Taswa pointed out, again incredibly bold. Harry had to hand it to her - she had guts.

_"No, but then I don't really care for custom."_

_"It sucks,"_ Meldir agreed readily, now feeling a lot more relaxed, seeing as Harry hadn't reprimanded Taswa for her audacity.

_ "But the law is the law, and Their Honoured Majesties decide what is law," _Eruahna pointed out sternly. She looked very strained, like the sudden collapse of any and all decorum was testing her nerves. She reminded Harry an awful lot of Hermione when she was forced to watch Ron's bad table manners. It was that same resigned, yet despairing expression of exasperation.

_"Of course,"_ Taswa agreed matter-of-factly, aiming to put an end to that line of discussion. But Harry still had his two knuts to add, so add he did.

_"I think it's stupid,"_ he announced thoughtfully, _"I mean, whatever happened to democracy?"_ He got three stupefied blinks for his troubles. _"You know...public voting systems and all that?"_ More confusion. Harry sighed. _"Okay, so democracy is clearly a novel concept."_

_"Then what did happen to democracy?"_ asked Meldir curiously.

Harry pursed his lips with a scowl. _"Nothing. Over here it clearly hasn't been invented."_

_ "What do you mean?"_ inquired Taswa sharply.

Harry had long realised he probably never should have opened his mouth. Trying to explain democracy to an absolute monarchy would be like trying to explain rocket science to wizards. _"Nevermind,"_ he said quickly. _"It's not important."_

Taswa gave him a suspicious look. Eruahna on the other hand seemed to find the conversation amusing. She placed a hand on Meldir's shoulder and stated, _"It will be nice for you to have a friend closer to your age, little brother."_

While the statement confused Harry (because wasn't Taswa also a friend and the same age?), it at least cleared up one little issue: Eruahna was Meldir's older sister, not mother. He breathed a sigh of relief. It was one thing to think someone's sister was beautiful, but it was a bit inappropriate when it was their mother. And Eruahna really was quite beautiful - it was a softer kind of beauty, unlike the cold, harsh beauty of his grandmother, or the sharp beauty of Taswa.

Eruahna stood up gracefully, like a swan. Her dress fell in perfect folds and her slippered feet only whispered their passage. She retreated from the room with a gentle goodbye and reprimand to behave. _"If you have need of me, I shall be in the music room."_

Once his big sister was gone, Meldir seemed to loosen up a great deal. He flopped back against the back of his seat and stuck his feet out, just like any other normal teenager. It was a stark contrast to the normal smooth grace of all the elves, and it made Harry feel more at home. Even Taswa seemed to relax a little, though she at least kept good posture.

_"Okay, so now that Eruahna's not here to tell me off, I gotta ask!"_ Meldir whispered conspiringly, green eyes glinting, _"You've got some serious guts calling those guys _radag'lüst! _How can you be so bold?"_

Taswa nodded her head jerkily, like a bird. Her short, straight hair cut the air like a thin blade. _"I agree. It is _too_ bold, even. If they knew...why, Déluaë is heir to the House of Caerlin! That means he's the most powerful young Elwý in the entire kingdom!"_

Meldir threw out a hand. _"Whoa, hold on, what about the prince?"_

Harry stiffened. He shot Meldir a wide-eyed look. Surely he didn't suspect...but then, if he did, he wouldn't be treating Harry so amicably, right?

Taswa didn't notice Harry's tenseness, she was too busy crossing her arms and snorting, _"Not this again. I told you there's no proof at all the princess ever had a son."_

_ "But,"_ Meldir refuted solemnly, _"there's rumours. Besides, can you imagine? Out there somewhere is our prince? Trapped in the Human Realm...desperately trying to survive...that's why when I make Royal Guard I'll be the first one to cross over to look for him!"_

Harry nearly choked. Eyes wide, he stared at Meldir in shock. What on earth…? Talk about a declaration of loyalty...the thought made Harry shiver. Here this boy didn't even know if Harry existed and yet he was ready, eager even, to cross to an unknown world just to save him from some imagined danger? The thought was honestly disconcerting and he wasn't sure he liked it. It was blind devotion, and it gave Harry a funny feeling in his gut that made him most uncomfortable. He shifted in his seat to cover his unease.

Fortunately, Taswa seemed to be playing Devil's Advocate. _"You're living in a fantasy world, you idiot! Honestly! Real life is not like an adventure story." _She heaved a put-upon sigh. _"I've said it once and I'll say it again, rumours are never the truth. I doubt there's a prince because if there was, don't you think Their Majesties would have found him already? They would not leave their blood - the blood of Caladharan - to the likes of _humans_." _The way she said the word made Harry cringe inside. It was the same way all the other elves said it, like humans were disgusting bugs to be squashed underfoot.

_"I still think it's possible,"_ Meldir retorted stubbornly, finishing his sweet water off in one last dramatic gulp. He turned beseeching eyes on Harry. _"What do you think, Araëmel?" _

Harry swallowed tightly. Merlin, how was he supposed to respond to that? He chose the path of least resistance. He held up his hands in surrender and said, _"Don't drag me into this."_

Meldir pouted - actually pouted! - and crossed his arms childishly. His eyes darted up to the ceiling, then back down to the crystal jug of sweet water. He got a very familiar glint in his eyes then. He reached out his hand as if grasping at something, and focused his attention on the jug. Taswa groaned, _"Oh no. Please not this again."_

_ "I gotta practice if I want to be good,"_ Meldir replied stubbornly. _"You're such a fun-spoiler."_

Harry looked between the two blankly. What in Merlin's name...oh. To his surprise, the jug wobbled and then started to rotate into the air, as if Meldir was picking it up with his hand. But it wobbled too much and a small amount of water splashed out onto the table.

_"Oops,"_ said Meldir, quickly setting the jug back down with a sigh. _"It's still too heavy!"_

_ "I told you,"_ said Taswa knowingly, with a delicate snort. _"You're always over-reaching yourself."_

Meldir shot her a glare. _"Well sorry not all of us can be fighting geniuses!"_

Harry glanced quickly at Taswa. Fighting genius? Then again, why was he surprised? He'd seen her out there - up against even her third opponent she had been as fierce and graceful as anything. He thought maybe this was another recurring argument the two shared, and though he didn't want to intrude on perhaps a sore subject, he couldn't help but say, _"Well, I didn't think you were too bad. You're better than me, at least."_

Meldir merely sighed, slumping back in his seat. He wrinkled his nose, ears dropping drastically. _"But I've had more experience. I think. How long have you been studying sword fighting?"_

Harry had to count the days. _"Um, well, including today? Nine I guess."_

_ "Nine," _repeated Taswa. She exchanged glances with Meldir. _"Nine what? Months? Years? No, surely not - you cannot be older than eighteen."_

_ "I'm fifteen...wait, no, I might be sixteen now,"_ Harry corrected quickly, despite the quick glow of satisfaction that permeated his chest. Really, he could pass for eighteen? _"And days. I've had lessons for nine days. Sort of." _

_"Sixteen!"_ Meldir cried at the same time that Taswa spluttered, _"NINE DAYS?"_

Harry leaned away from them both with wide eyes. Oh no, had he done something impossible again? He hoped not.

_"Nine days? That's impossible! You must have had some instruction before, surely?"_ Taswa ranted. Springing up from her seat on cat feet, she began to pace sharply. _"No, no, there's simply no way to have that much control without any kind of previous experience! Surely you have had previous experience?"_

Harry thought about the Basilisk, about Voldemort and about Harry Hunting and said wryly, _"Yeah, I guess you could say I've had previous experience."_

Taswa suddenly relaxed, dropping back down in her seat with a determined nod. _"Of course. That makes sense. Still, only nine days of formal training? You do quite well for one your age."_ She smiled slightly at Harry with an odd look in her eyes. Harry couldn't quite place it, but it kind of reminded him of the way Aunt Petunia would sometimes look at Dudley when he did something shockingly intelligent. But that was ridiculous. Why would Taswa be looking at him that way? He jerked his head quickly to dislodge the disturbing comparison. _"Uh, thanks,"_ he said, eyes flickering over to a silent Meldir.

Meldir merely sighed when he noticed Harry's attention. He looked even gloomier than before. _"I've had two years of formal training_, two! _I should be better."_

_ "Wow, that's a lot,"_ said Harry before Taswa could speak. She shut her mouth with a scowl. Harry continued, _"You train every day?"_

Both Meldir and Taswa thought this was hilarious. Meldir actually broke out into full-blown laughter. He was too busy sniggering, so Taswa had to answer. _"Every day? That's crazy! We have lessons once or twice a week. For me, I still practice on the days we do not have lessons, but that is because I must…"_ she trailed off with a creased brow. Her face looked pinched.

Meldir calmed himself enough so he could scoot over to the end of his settee and lean over to pat Taswa's hand. _"But you're one of the best in the class. So it's worth it!"_

Harry smiled uncertainly. He was clearly missing something again. But it made him wonder why he had to train every day if no one else did. Was this more 'special' treatment? Bloody flaming brilliant.

Taswa did not take kindly to Meldir's reassurances. She stated bluntly, _"I am the best because I have to be, you know that."_

Meldir deflated. His eyes sought Harry's and tried to bond over mutual exasperation, but Harry was utterly clueless as to what Taswa's problem was. He didn't want to ask either, for risk of sounding completely stupid. _"But surely,"_ he stated hesitantly, picking his words carefully so as not to sound ignorant, _"surely it doesn't matter whether it is because you must be or not, the fact that you are the best is nothing to scoff at…"_ He wondered if either of them would further elaborate.

Meldir grinned, nodding fiercely, _"Exactly! That's what I've been trying to say all along!"_ He turned on Taswa with an intent expression. _"Many Commoners want to be where you are, but many of them do not have the talent nor the dedication to manage it! Right, Araëmel?"_

Harry quickly agreed, not entirely sure what he was agreeing with in the first place. But he was beginning to put the pieces together. Melcacrist, he knew, was the best of the best, and he only trained those elves with enough status to demand his training, or those with enough promise. Quenah had once mentioned that Melcacrist trained all the Royal Guard and any elf with a hope of becoming something great had to train under him.

He studied Taswa in a new light. She was a Commoner, that much he had gathered. She had no House and so could not buy her way into Melcacrist's class...which meant she had to train harder than anyone else in order to secure a place. He also had no doubt that her position was precarious; that the moment she slipped up or made any kind of mistake, she'd be kicked out of the class. Understanding swept through him, and he had to admire Taswa for her strength. In a way, she reminded him of Hermione - Hermione, so desperate to prove herself that she studied till her eyes bled. But Taswa was not Hermione, for even having known her so briefly, Harry could already see that she was much harder and had a more selective ambition. Taswa might be placed in Hufflepuff, or perhaps Slytherin, he thought, but not Gryffindor and certainly not Ravenclaw.

He leaned forward, suddenly wanting to reassure her, because he could now see in her eyes that the stress was taking its toll on her. _"Meldir is right. I don't know you well, yet, but you are the one of hundreds who succeeded, that much is clear. I have a feeling...no, I know that you will go far."_

Taswa cracked a small, acerbic smile. _"You realise this is all I have going for me? I have no magic, no prestige, no _name_. If I fail at this, I have nothing."_

_"You won't,"_ Harry assured her again, firmly, Meldir agreeing quickly. _"I promise you, you won't fail." _He'd seen her, she was brilliant. And even if he wasn't the most qualified judge, he had enough sense to tell she was good enough to be in that class, so House or no House, she deserved to be there. And he liked to think that people got what they deserved, whether good or bad.

Taswa gave him a strange look, eyes searching his face with disbelief. _"How can you make such a promise? If I slip up just a little, fall behind, don't make a lesson...I will be dismissed. If I insult anyone, accidentally or otherwise, he will have no choice but to dismiss me as well. You cannot stop that." _She began to rant, _"In fact, I have to be better than simply _good_, you know! When Master Melcacrist pairs me with someone from an Upper House, I have to win, but I have to make sure I win in a manner that doesn't injure my opponent! They may be required to spar me, but I am still a Commoner, and an injury bad enough to send them to the infirmary will bring consequences." _She reached up and gripped her hair in frustration, tugging at it. _"It's this awful, precarious balance. I have to be the best to keep my place, but at the same time I have to be careful not to be _too_ good, and sometimes I am forced to put myself in a bad position simply because an opening would be too dangerous to take and I always fear each time that Master Melcacrist will dismiss me for my failure, but…" _she took a deep breath and heaved out a sigh, trailing off. Meldir also sighed and leaned back with his eyes closed and a frown creasing his brow. He looked like he'd heard these troubles before.

For Harry, he could sympathise. It reminded him of Snape's potions classes: if he did well, he was accused of cheating, but if he did poorly, he was ridiculed. If someone sabotaged his potion, it was still his fault, and if he spoke out against it, he would only end up harming his House points.

_ Yeah,_ Harry thought to himself, _I can definitely relate. But...it doesn't have to be the same here. I'm the prince, right? So that means people have to listen to me...Which means I can do something about it! _

He smiled at Taswa easily, and his words made her still. Her hands dropped from her head and she simply watched him speak. _"Just work hard...but don't overwork yourself, because that will always set you back, and I promise you'll have nothing to worry about."_

As long as she showed promise, Harry was certain a few well-placed words in Melcacrist's ear would keep her in the class, even if she had an off day. He was sure of it. Melcacrist always said he didn't care about status, only about the training, and Harry knew Taswa was good and Melcacrist knew Taswa was good. Even if something happened, or one of those silly boys who wore jewel encrusted shirts to sword practice thought to get rid of her, Harry would make sure Melcacrist kept her on - he was reasonable, after all. Surely.

_"Definitely! Araëmel's right!"_ Meldir agreed.

Taswa finally graced them with a smile. She looked at Meldir with a fond quirk of her lips, then she also bestowed Harry with a similarly indulgent look. _"Very well, very well, who am I to refuse such heart-felt advice?"_

Harry got the feeling he was being slightly condescended to. He grunted and leaned back in his seat with a mild huff. He was unable to stop his ears from twitching and betraying his annoyance as well, which was irritating. When he frowned or moved his eyebrows, his ears also moved! They moved even more independently than human ears. Whenever he heard a sound, for example, they would twitch and strain in that particular direction. He reached up and scratched the tip of one, trying to hide his frown behind the movement of his arm.

No one noticed. Taswa reached out to pour them all more sweet water, and Meldir watched her progress intently. She re-filled Harry's glass as well, setting it down in front of him with soft movements. She glanced up at him through her fringe, blue cat-eyes wide and framed with light blonde lashes. Harry quickly averted his gaze from the unnerving stare. Sometimes the eyes still got to him.

_"Tell us,"_ she murmured after a moment, _"what career path do you wish to follow? You are taking lessons with Melcacrist, but are you serious about them or is this something your parents wanted?"_

_ "I already told you I want to be a Royal Guard!"_ Meldir piped up with a boastful grin. He gestured at Taswa, _"Taswa is going to be a Guard too!"_

Taswa shot her friend an irritated look. _"Not a Royal Guard. You must have magic to be a Royal Guard! But I may be a Palace Guard, or perhaps I might be sent out to battle and will rise through the ranks. It is my plan, at least, should I succeed with Master Melcacrist."_ She then turned an expectant gaze on Harry.

Harry was frozen with indecision. What could he say? 'I want to be an Auror'? Then he'd have to explain about the Wizarding World. 'I'm the prince, so my grandparents want me to be King'? That would go down well. And he really didn't feel like explaining the whole 'an evil Dark Lord killed my parents' bit either. _"Why must the Royal Guard have magic?"_ he blurted out, hoping to distract them from their original question.

Both Meldir and Taswa stared at Harry like he'd grown wings and horns and had started spouting fire. When it appeared that Harry was in fact not joking, they exchanged dubious looks. Meldir began to explain slowly, like he was speaking to a small child. _"The Royal Guard protects the Royal Family. What if there is an attack using magic? The Guards must be able to defend Their Majesties no matter what kind of attack." _His eyes lit up with awe. _"That's why the Royal Guard must be the best fighters _and_ the best magic users! They're simply the best at everything!"_

Harry had to admit, it made sense. But it was still a little unfair that Taswa couldn't even have the option simply because she didn't have enough magic to perform spells.

But then, when was life ever fair?

_"Okay,"_ he replied thoughtfully.

_"Which is why I'm going to be a Royal Guard,"_ Meldir reminded him for the third time.

Harry nodded again. _"Yeah, okay."_

_"They actually get to _meet_ the king and queen,"_ Meldir added admiringly. _"Can you imagine?"_

_"Terrifying,"_ Harry drawled. _Scary, intimidating, mean, horrible, uncaring! _He ground his teeth just remembering the past couple of days.

_"An honour!"_ Taswa snapped, aghast. She levelled Harry with a frightening look, blue eyes icy and cold. It was like staring into the eyes of a predator. He looked away, putting his chin in his hand, elbow on the low back of the settee. He could still see Meldir looking extremely uncomfortable out of the corner of his eye. Taswa though, wasn't done. _"You may be young and your youth may excuse you a lot of things, but speaking ill of Their Esteemed Majesties is _never_ excusable!"_

Harry twisted his head back around so he could stare at her angry expression. She glared at him expectantly, like she wanted him to start spewing apologies. He quickly turned away again, ignoring the glare as best he could, despite feeling the heat of her gaze on the back of his head.

_"Umm, maybe we should change the subject?"_ Meldir ventured hopefully.

_"Sure,"_ Harry agreed dully.

Taswa did not agree, but Meldir bulldozed over any potential protests, _"So what _do_ you want to become?"_

Harry smothered a groan. He thought he'd avoided that question. _"I don't know yet."_

_"Not even an idea? You're going to learn magic right? Maybe you can be a Mage? Or...or a Potioneer! Or...maybe you can be a Royal Guard like me!" _

Taswa quickly blew holes in Meldir's excitement. _"And what if he has House obligations?"_

Meldir shot Harry a pained look. _"But,"_ he whined, _"That's _centuries_ away! Father doesn't expect me to take over until I'm at least two or three millenia! Before that I'm going to be a Guard! Araëmel can do the same, right?"_ He turned beseeching eyes on Harry.

Harry wondered what his grandparents would say if he announced he wanted to be a Royal Guard. Probably throw a Royal fit. He snorted. _"I don't think my grandparents have the same expectations your parents do,"_ he replied with a grimace. _Besides,_ he added silently, _I'm not going to be sticking around. I'm going back to Hogwarts soon enough and I've got a Dark Lord to defeat. _

_"Grandparents?"_ Taswa asked. Her voice and facial expressions were back to being neutral, so Harry felt safe in facing her again. He'd have to remember in the future not to make jokes about his grandparents in front of her, least she bite his head off. He'd treat it like Hermione's S.P.E.W. - nod, smile, and pretend to care.

_"Your grandparents still control your family? Your parents must be very young," _Meldir concluded, expression thoughtful. _"Sixteen,"_ he muttered to himself, _"Elassë? No, wait…Vanaerya? No, but I coulda sworn…" _He continued to mumble what sounded like names, some of which Harry recognised as Houses. Was Meldir trying to figure out which 'House' he was from? Finally, Meldir scratched an ear in defeat and sighed, _"I give up! I can't think which House!"_

Harry's lips twitched. There was no way in a million years Meldir would ever guess. No one would guess because no one knew he existed. He glanced away from Meldir's childish frustration. It was odd, he thought, but Meldir sometimes acted a lot younger than he would expect. Was that something to do with the way young elves were raised? From Taswa's attitude, he guessed her to be a little older - probably seventeen or eighteen. Maybe even nineteen, but that might be pushing it.

As he was pondering the mysteries of elvin growth, he realised he was looking out into a darkened sky. Without Harry having noticed crystal glow lamps had slowly increased the brightness of their magic to match the fading light of the sun. It was really ingenious, but also expected of elvin subtlety. His room had similar magical light fixtures, though he'd never paid them much mind before. He had a sudden desire to go see the view from Meldir's apartments. He glanced back at Meldir, who was back to bouncing House names and their children's ages off Taswa and then shooting a questioning look at Harry every so often. Harry merely shook his head and stood up, stepping over to the window. Meldir stopped guessing.

_"Where are you going?"_ he asked.

Harry pointed. _"I hadn't noticed it was dark. I want to see."_

Meldir bounced up. _"Oh, the view's pretty boring...during the day at least. But check out what happens when it gets dark! I think it's pretty neat."_

Taswa stood and followed them. _"It's just the natural light-collecting properties of the trees. It's why it's called the Forest of Golden Light."_

Harry glanced at her with interest. No one had ever bothered to explain _why_ it was called the Forest of Golden Light. If he remembered correctly, there was also a Silver Forest. He reached the window, peering out at the tops of the trees in the distance, and he suddenly saw what she meant. This close to the forest, he finally noticed something he hadn't before: the trees glowed. It was quite subtle, and he doubted he'd have seen it without his new elvin eyesight, but the trees all had a soft, golden, pearlescent glow. _"It's beautiful,"_ he breathed in awe. He turned eagerly on Taswa. _"What about the Silver Forest? Does that glow silver?" _he demanded.

Taswa nodded. _"I've never seen it, but they have more Night trees there than they do Day trees, so they reflect the moonlight rather than collect the sunlight."_

_"I've seen it,"_ Meldir bragged. _"Mother took us once. It's really something."_

Harry decided right then and there it was something he had to see. He gazed with admiration at the aptly named Forest of Golden Light and suddenly had a new appreciation for nature. _"I wonder if I can see this from my room?"_ he wondered absently.

_"What direction do you face?"_ asked Meldir.

Harry replied without thinking, _"South, towards the forest. But I'm pretty high up."_

_ "Third Palace?"_ Taswa asked casually.

Harry caught himself as he nodded, but it was really too late. Taswa stared at him with narrowed eyes. Then she smirked. _"Third Palace, high room? I'd say Upper House, wouldn't you Meldir?"_

Harry groaned and leaned his forehead against the cool stone of the arched window with a soft thump. Meldir laughed next to him. Harry caught him grinning out the corner of one squinted eye.

_"We're getting closer!"_ Meldir exclaimed. He was treating this as a game. _"You've never seen the Forest of Golden Light at night before, and you haven't seen the Silver Forest...so that really narrows it down!"_

Harry knew that there were roughly fifteen Upper Houses, give or take one or so depending on the current politics. He also knew one of those controlled the city of _Calathmaloth_, which was right smack dab in the middle of the Forest of Golden Light (_Taurin Calathmal?_), and there was something special about the Silver Forest as well (something about a big battle in some town), so he thought there was an Upper House involved in the ruling of that as well. Which didn't leave very many from which to guess. He turned abruptly, before Meldir could begin to put the pieces together. _"Actually, I think I need to go. But I'll see you around, alright?"_

Meldir blinked, closing his mouth. He'd been about to continue guessing. _"O-okay…"_

_ "Will you be attending more lessons?"_ Taswa inquired politely.

Harry shrugged. _"Maybe. If I feel like it. Well, if I have any free days, I guess. I'm pretty busy most of the time with _other_ lessons."_ He wrinkled his nose. _Other_ lessons he'd really rather not participate in. The geography lessons were interesting enough, but the etiquette lessons were enough to do anyone's head in. Hopefully they'd just give him up as a lost cause eventually and leave him in peace.

Except, he remembered with dawning horror that he was now expected to rotate through at least six more subjects. Six! Adding the ones he was already doing, that was more subjects than Hermione took for her OWLs, and he'd seen how crazy that had made her! And Hermione had the aptitude for study. With another hearty groan he thumped his head back against the stone. His head immediately began to throb. _"You know what, never mind, it'll be a miracle if I make it to the next week without throwing myself out a window,"_ he grouched.

Both Taswa and Meldir looked stricken.

_"What? Why!" _exclaimed Meldir in horror. He was taking Harry's words a little too seriously. Harry got the impression sarcasm was lost on him.

_"That is never the solution,"_ Taswa added soothingly, hand hovering uncertainly near his shoulder. She looked just as worried.

Harry nearly groaned again. _"I was joking. Joking! But still, I'm going to be really, really busy. My grandparents are piling on the pressure and I can't get out of it."_

Taswa responded, _"But you are only sixteen."_

Harry shrugged. _"My age doesn't seem to matter much. They expect me to be the 'best because I _must_ be',"_ he mocked, straightening and twisting his face into the closest resemblance of his grandmother's stern glare he could manage. _"'We do not tolerate fun, because we are determined to make your life miserable!'"_ he added in a falsetto just to really drive the point home.

Meldir reached over and patted his shoulder with a sorrowful stare. _"That's terrible! Good luck…"_

_ "Perhaps you should return,"_ Taswa added with an equally sympathetic look. _"They sound strict."_

They had no idea, Harry thought. But he agreed to leave. He'd successfully diverted their attention and his own for the evening. He probably wouldn't see his grandparents again, but he could at least make it back for dinner with Quenah. He said his goodbyes, grateful that neither seemed awfully inclined on being overly formal about it, because he didn't think an imperious nod would quite cut it.

Just as he was leaving the apartments and the door was shutting behind him, he heard Meldir whisper to Taswa, _"Nothing he says or does makes any sense...can you figure it out?"_

Taswa's reply was abruptly cut off by the door finally closing. Some kind of magic prevented the rest of their words from penetrating the wood. Harry stood in the corridor and watching the door for a moment. He'd revealed more than he had wanted to through his ignorance. As much as he hated to admit it, the lessons were probably necessary. That still didn't mean he wanted to take some of them (music? dance? No one needed to know that!).

He walked slowly back up the now brightly lit corridor. As he went he tried to categorise all the new things he'd learnt. First, he needed to figure out the right kind of etiquette he wanted to present next time he saw them. Second, there was a lot more going on behind the scenes than he'd previously suspected. Elvin social interaction was a Triwizard's Maze full of dangers. Taswa's situation, what he'd gathered of it so far, was just proof of that. The only reason he probably hadn't screwed himself over was because he was exempt from any and all obligation to be polite. He let out a breathless laugh. This was a whole other world, and here he was right in the thick of things, as usual. But for the first time, perhaps he was getting lucky with all this 'special treatment' bollocks.

When he finally reached the Royal Tower, he looked upon the guards standing outside with new eyes. He imagined the happy-go-lucky Meldir standing in their place, but just couldn't picture it. Still, he gave them small smiles and the closest equivalent of 'thank you' he could think of when they opened the large double doors for him to enter. They stared after him with wide, luminescent eyes.

Well, maybe he wasn't supposed to thank people, but then maybe he could start a new trend. Hermione would approve.

* * *

_...You can probably tell what was revised old stuff and completely re-written new stuff...At least the improvement's visible._

_It's been a while, folks! I finally gave up on this chapter (a scene in the middle was giving me trouble...so to save myself the hassle...I just said "Screw it" and cut it completely. Deleted 3 whole pages, but...well, it's still 12k wordcount! And I can finally post it!) but I haven't given up on this story...not yet! I'll finish it, no matter how long it takes! _

_I'm interested to hear what you guys think of the new scene with Taswa and Meldir. I threw in a lot of new bg info and some elvin culture, and hopefully the conversation flows smoothly._

_Finally: Sorry for the wait. For those that don't read my profile, I've been writing an original trilogy (quite seriously, too. Finished the first draft of the first book and nearly done with the second draft...roughly 120k total so far!). I'm also busy researching Masters programmes/figuring out what I want to do, as well as trying to put together a good professional art portfolio, so a lot of my spare time is spent up to my eyeballs in paints._

_Hope you enjoyed it, despite the wait. Thanks to all of you who reminded me to update, or just let me know you were still there, reading! I really appreciated all the reviews, I read them all, and I'm sorry I didn't have time to reply to all of them. Critique, questions, enthusiasm, whatever you want, I'm happy to receive it._

_xoxoRia_

_Posted: 27 June, 2012  
Edited: 27 June 2012_

* * *

_p.s. So, Snow White and the Huntsman? Every time I see the Evil Queen, I picture her with red hair, pointy ears and think: she'd be a perfect Queen Allawhta. For those of you wanting a visual. :D _


	9. Bonds Tested

_Ex Sanguis Version 2.0 chapter changes: the usual + complete scene revamp. Do not skip._

* * *

**Chapter 9: Bonds Tested**

Days passed quickly for Harry after the initial excitement of his transformation wore off. He was called in for two more tailoring and crown-fitting sessions, though clothes began to show up in his wardrobe the day after the first one. For the most part however, his lessons occupied much of his time. Despite that he had come to the conclusion that some lessons (like magic, or sword fighting) were vital to his future plans to stand against Voldemort, others he decided were positively useless. And then there was politics – an entirely different kettle of fish.

The moment he crossed the threshold of Past and Present Politics, he knew it was going to be a chore. The elf who stood between two large bookshelves was positively ancient. This was the first time Harry could honestly say he'd seen an _old_ elf. He shuddered to think how many centuries those eyes had witnessed. The elf's silver hair reached his waist, combed into a meticulous ponytail that draped down his back. He wore light, flowing robes of a kind Harry had never seen before, and that reminded him more of wizarding attire than the most prevalent elvin fashions. The strangest thing by far was his face, lined deeply with age and sporting a beard that could rival Dumbledore's. Harry tried to recall if he'd ever seen any other elf with facial hair and drew a shocking blank.

He felt like he was facing an ancient relic of times past. He slowly took a seat in the only chair available, eyes darting down to glimpse the scrolls scattered across the large wooden table. Some of them looked very official, and all of them were crammed with small, tight handwriting - Hermione's wet dream, Harry and Ron's nightmare. He gulped.

_"Your Royal Highness,"_ the venerable elf greeted in a soft, whispery voice, only performing a simple bow of greeting, much to Harry's surprise, _"I am called Larithár. I taught your illustrious grandmother when she was but a child and your honoured mother but a few centuries ago. Now, much sooner than I had expected, the time has come to instruct you as well. Politics is the single most important instruction you will learn. I will start with our past politics and the deeper we navigate its tricky corridors the more you will become involved in present day affairs. Do not look so alarmed, it will take us many years." _The old elf finally advanced with surprisingly quick steps and a fluid grace that would never have been present in a human of his equivalent age. He seated himself opposite Harry and clasped his hands together. Harry stared with expectant eyes, anticipating him to simply disintegrate - he honestly looked like a strong wind would just pull him apart. The way he moved suggested he was more air than matter.

Larithár unrolled a single scroll across the length of the table. With a flick of his fingers it kept unrolling itself until it lay flat. He gestured for Harry to look at it. _"This is a copy of First King Caladharan's declaration to take the many, shall we say, 'tribes' of Elwý and bring them together into a single nation. Please familiarise yourself with it, then we shall discuss the underlying reasons behind the decisions Your Esteemed Ancestor made and how he was able to unite the different factions of our people during such a trying time."_

Harry swallowed heavily. Oh sweet Merlin, this was going to _suck._

* * *

To Harry's everlasting relief, he discovered one very unexpected perk to being _Elwý_: memory retention. Suddenly, he could see how Hermione managed to be a human dictionary - how she constantly knew every little random fact or could remember exactly which page held the reference she was looking for. He could see how one might even find studying _easy _when one was capable of remembering near everything one read just once. Eidetic memory - or so claimed Quenah. All _Elwý_ were blessed, for the most part, with very intense, vivid recall. Of course, having the ability to easily retain information didn't automatically mean they were any better at parsing it. Some things were just plain confusing no matter how well you recalled them.

Of course, Harry wasn't stupid. He just couldn't be bothered with bookwork or memorising long strings of facts. Or essay writing. Or anything that involved heavy research and hours of his time with his head buried in musty pages. He was a man of action - practical knowledge and execution were his forte. And some things just came naturally, like flying and Defense. But now...with the ability to remember what he'd read, instead of having to page back through books to find references, well, writing essays became a breeze. He blew through all his summer assignments in mere days. And that was on top of being routinely exhausted by Melcacrist's sadistic (but _useful _he had to keep reminding himself)practices.

Unfortunately, despite the new ease with which he found he could learn, it didn't really make the study of such things as politics (which was basically How to be a Slytherin 101), dance (no amount of natural grace was _ever_ going to endear him to embarrassing himself in front of an audience), and music any less difficult. Especially music. Harry had the musical talent of a flobberworm. He couldn't carry a tune if his life depended on it. And even if he could memorise which holes to cover on the flute to make whichever note, that didn't mean he was any less tone deaf or capable of stringing them together into anything remotely melodious. He also found the study of music to be completely ridiculous (what, was he going to serenade Voldemort to his defeat? Or dance him to death? Hardly.)

His lessons only seemed to get more and more convoluted as time passed. His tutors had started off with the basics and begun to pick up the pace once Harry had proven he wasn't a complete idiot - stuffing his brain so full of knowledge he was afraid his head would explode. He felt that even Hermione would have run herself ragged trying to keep up. And when he wasn't being instructed in how to best negotiate a peace treaty or how to decide when to declare war, he was being instructed how to act.

He hated etiquette the most. Time did not endear him to the Demon-Witch from Hell. In fact, time made her less tolerable. Despite numerous protests about his comportment being perfectly normal thank-you-very-much, the lessons were filled with phrases like: _"No, no, Your Royal Highness is doing it wrong _again_!"_ or: _"As hard as it for Your Esteemed Highness to _understand_, it simply _must_ be done this way."_ Oftentimes when he knew she thought he wasn't listening, he heard her bemoaning the fate of the kingdom when Harry became king.

Sometimes he thought that the first thing he ought to do as king was completely ignore every etiquette lesson ever imparted upon him. Then he would remember his discussions about politics with Larithár and know it was only a pipe dream. And he knew the Demon-Witch was aware of the fact that he wasn't unintelligent. So he chalked it up to her propensity to overreact and treat him like an unruly child.

He doubted they would ever get along.

At least on the other end of the spectrum, his 'physical' education had become less of a chore and more of an adventure. Not only did his new physique and instincts allow him to progress in leaps and bounds, but it meant he came away from lessons feeling, if not rejuvenated, at least not pulverised. He also discovered he actually _could_ hit a moving target with an arrow if he focused hard enough. Melcacrist was ecstatic.

One thing that shouldn't have surprised him was that he quickly came to enjoy horse riding…once he managed to figure out how to steer the large animals. In a way it was like flying, and it reminded him an awful lot of riding on Buckbeak when his horse broke into a canter. The wind whipping past his face and the smooth, steady gait of a tonne of finely honed muscle beneath him was the closest he could come to flying in this place, so he grasped every opportunity to egg the beast into a sprint. With an improved sense of balance, and no longer falling out of the saddle whenever his horse bucked or jumped, he didn't have to worry about melon-sized bruises and could concentrate on the sheer speed.

Harry had taken a liking to one of the horses at the stables (or perhaps the horse had taken a liking to him). The beast was frisky, temperamental, and had a habit of running off with Harry clutching on for dear life...which was brilliant. He was such a beautiful glossy black, with a proud bearing and eyes that always seemed far too intelligent. Whenever he saw Harry, his ears would prick forward and he'd whinny a greeting.

In a way, the horse reminded him of Hedwig, who Harry hoped was being taken care of at the Burrow. Since Hedwig wasn't around to cluck her beak at him and snatch food off his plate, he offered up snacks every time he came, which the horse seemed to appreciate.

One day, approximately a week after the removal of his skin (Harry was finding it hard to keep track of the days), Melcacrist made a comment about his bond with the horse.

_"You have ridden this one exclusively ever since the change, Your Highness,"_ said the sword-master with a ghost of a smile. _"Are you perhaps trying to hint at something?"_

Harry stopped stroking the long, silky neck as he puzzled over that comment. _"I don't understand."_

_"We must all pick a steed, my prince,"_ Melcacrist replied, voice slipping into his gruff, lecturing tone. _"A horse and its rider must have an understanding - a bond if you will - between them so that they may work together as one. You have not been riding long, but already I see a bond forming between you and this animal. He is a fine horse and is available for claiming, if you wish it."_ He waited for Harry to say something to this, but Harry remained silent, thinking. Melcacrist continued, _"We always have a few horses that are of good breed and trained by the best available trainers for members of the Upper House. If you wish to keep him, he is yours, and I will focus on helping you develop a better bond."_

Harry reached up and placed a hand on the nose of his preferred steed. Keep him? For his own? He stared at the horse's deep brown eyes and addressed him directly, as he often did to Hedwig. _"Well, boy? What do you say to that?"_ He had to admit, the thought was tempting.

The horse whickered and blew in his face, pushing his nose so that it hovered right next to Harry's own. Harry grinned and quickly placed his cheek against the soft, silky flesh before stepping back. He turned to Melcacrist. _"Okay,"_ he decided. _"I want him."_

Melcacrist nodded calmly. _"Very well. He will need a name. I will have him moved to the Royal Stables immediately after our lesson."_

With that, Melcacrist left them both and Harry remained, mind racing. A name? He'd have to think about that one carefully. Such a magnificent creature needed an equally magnificent name!

His lesson that day could have gone better, but Harry was determined to pick a good name before the day was up and remained somewhat distracted.

As Melcacrist shouted something about foolish princes with their heads in the clouds, he finally settled on _Ardú_. It meant 'royal night'.

_"I've decided on a name,"_ he announced as he was fumbling an arrow onto his bow and drawing back to release. The fact that he was sitting on the newly named Ardú didn't help his coordination.

Melcacrist stared at him incredulously. _"Would you bloody well focus!"_ he snapped.

Harry nearly grinned, but forced his lips not to respond. It wouldn't do for Melcacrist to think Harry no longer found him intimidating. He was _just_ like Hagrid in that way. He seemed scary on the outside, but wasn't so bad once you got to know him. Plus, he'd given Harry a horse.

He did actually focus when he aimed and released the arrow towards the stationary target while Ardú continued at a sedate walk. When he hit the ground behind the target, he sighed in frustration.

_"Perhaps if you focused…"_ Melcacrist growled threateningly.

_"I _am_," _Harry complained, pulling another arrow from the quiver on his back and stringing it with only minimal difficulty. His eyes drifted from the target, which Melcacrist turned to keep in Harry's sights.

Melcacrist caught his gaze._"FOCUS!" _bellowed the sword-master.

Harry nearly fell from the saddle when Ardú did a quick skip-hop to the left. Only his superior balance kept him in the seat. Ardú whickered and Harry patted his neck reassuringly. _"Yeah, scared me too,"_ he whispered. In the centre of the ring, Melcacrist's eyebrow and remaining ear twitched violently.

* * *

Every other morning, Harry had his most interesting lesson of all: magic. Elvin magic was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. While witches and wizards used wands and carefully enunciated incantations, elves used runes, symbols and their own two hands to cast spells. They relied heavily on the symbology of circularity and the ability to imbue magic into runes. Intent and focus also played a huge role in whether or not the spell succeeded, but that was nothing new. Fortunately, elvin potions weren't a whole lot different than wizarding potions. Harry relished the time he spent with his new potions tutor as the elf could actually _teach_. Unlike Snape, Harry's new teacher actually explained _why_ you had to add ingredients in a certain order or _why_ such and such potion needed to be brewed in a gold caldron versus a silver one.

This year, Snape wasn't going to know what hit him when Harry returned. That was assuming he'd made it into Snape's NEWT class though, of which he had his doubts. He wished Auror training didn't require a Potions NEWT, but the satisfaction of watching Snape stew in rage over Harry's newfound academic ease would be well worth the effort.

Potions and spells aside, there was another aspect of elvin magic that Harry found extremely useful: element manipulation. More specifically, the manipulation of air without the use of runes, potions, or spells. It was like having another limb – Harry could reach out and tell the air around him to do something and it would. This was, he realized, why he had never seen a single elf with so much as a hair out of place, and why their clothes seemed to drape and fold against the laws of physics. More importantly, it explained how Harry had unconsciously gouged a line through the dirt during his duel with Meldir.

The ability to do things like levitation and manipulating wind and air currents was going to come in handy. Voldemort and his Death Eaters wouldn't know what hit them.

Harry practiced this all the time, with small, every day things, in the hopes that one day he'd be able to wrench the wands from his enemies' hands without so much as an incantation.

When he started his sixth year he was going to be ready. He was going to be strong, and he was going to know how to fight. He'd teach his friends how to fight as well and they'd all be ready. He just hoped they weren't panicking over his disappearance...but hadn't Aunt Petunia said she would explain? But explain what, exactly?

Harry had searched through his history books, but he never saw mention of any kind of people remotely resembling his family, so did the Wizarding World not know? He could only assume that Aunt Petunia would come up with an explanation that would work. Harry didn't much fancy having to explain things himself.

Quenah, when Harry asked his opinion, merely informed him that things had been 'taken care of', but that was a non-answer if Harry ever heard one, so the questions remained.

It was thoughts like these which niggled at the back of his mind, even as he learned his forms, practiced his potions, or discussed past political manoeuvres. At the back of his mind he worried that perhaps the Order _didn't_ know what had happened to him and they thought Voldemort had kidnapped er, _killed_ him? He worried that all his friends thought he was in trouble. He worried that Voldemort might be gaining an advantage or had done something horrible while he was tucked safely away in another dimension.

He thought about sending a message, but he couldn't figure out how to do so. And when he brought _that_ up with Quenah, the older elf gave him one of those patently indulgent looks he got from pretty much everyone around and told him, _"Do not worry. I assure you it's been taken care of."_

But even had he wanted to spend all his time fretting, there was no way the worries could occupy his full attention. There was always something to do. Always classes to attend, formalities to uphold...and rumours to chuckle over. The one about the human who had been seen from time to time and then vanished as mysteriously as he had appeared was always good for a laugh. Both Meldir and Taswa, when he'd found the time to stop by for a chat, had both had some wild theories on the topic, and Harry had had entirely too much fun listening to them to even consider telling them the truth. Besides, then he'd have to explain _why_ he'd been in the human realm, and he wasn't about to touch that particular can of flobberworms with a ten-foot pole.

However, all thoughts pertaining to lessons, rumours and worries were promptly discarded when he found out about the ball.

It had been two weeks after he'd taken the skin removal potion and he had been so busy every day, he fell into an exhausted, deep, dreamless sleep each night. He was becoming tired and frustrated, and really wanted a break. Working this hard was just unnatural! Especially because he _knew_ the others his age weren't in lessons every hour of the day, every day of the week.

Harry had never been held accountable for his academic performance before. Aunt Petunia had never cared about his grades, and only Hermione ever nagged him to do better at Hogwarts. Harry did decently because he had wanted to, but if he had to choose between an essay and Quidditch, his priorities had always fallen on the fun side of life. Now he had two austere grandparents breathing down his neck…he kind of understood where Neville and Ron were coming from when they moaned about their marks.

So Harry indulged in a little bit of well-earned moaning himself as he made his way back to the Royal Tower. He really, really hated politics. It _could_ perhaps have been interesting, had his teacher not been hell-bent on sucking any fun out of it. It reminded him rather a lot of Binns' classes, and reckoned it must have something to do with the fact that Binns was dead and his politics teacher had one foot in the grave as well.

Besides, he'd never been particularly brilliant at chess, and some of the more 'modern' politics that had been brought up reminded him of exactly that. Harry had learned quite early on that you couldn't play a decent game of chess without choosing to sacrifice some of your pieces, and that comparison always left him feeling hollow.

When he got to his rooms, he threw himself down on a nearby chair with a groan.

"_Just one break…_Merlin_, I'd even take a half-day off,"_ he grumbled at the ceiling.

Suddenly, he sat up straighter and looked around, the emptiness of his rooms and the lack of response to his complaint finally registering. That was strange. Usually Quenah would be in his rooms, waiting with lunch. Despite no longer needing language lessons so desperately, Quenah still subsidised his etiquette lessons with 'speech' lessons. They usually did this over lunch, which was his grandparents' way of trying to cram yet more work into the limited timeframe of a day. He also suspected that they did this to avoid too many 'family' meals.

It hurt, that they only saw him as a tool. He understood what Aunt Petunia had been talking about now. The part of him – that small lonely child from the cupboard under the stairs – who valued family above all else still insisted that he should be more grateful, but it was just too hard. The king and queen were always so intimidating that he felt like he was on trial every time he even spoke to them. Naturally that only led to animosity as he tried to keep his temper under control. He wouldn't have dared tell the Queen of England to 'piss off', so no matter how much his grandmother got under his skin, he at least tried to remain respectful.

What he really wanted was familial camaraderie - what he got were minders. He wanted to be able to go to them after an exhausting day and simply _talk_, but instead he had to stand to attention and relate every success and failure and then wait for the verdict like a criminal. And sometimes, when the king and queen were disappointed, they would look at him in such a way that he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole , because clearly his best just wasn't good enough.

There was still that little boy buried deep inside that wanted to please them so badly, so that they would praise him and tell him how much they loved him, but for the most part it was overshadowed by his stubborn pride. Sometimes there was a burning feeling in his gut that smacked an awful lot of hate and resentment.

Harry's mixed emotions exhausted him, and so he had devised the simplest way of dealing with his grandparents – don't_._ Rather, he avoided them like the plague unless he was specifically summoned.

And so far, it seemed to be working. For the moment.

At least after summer was over he'd have a break when Hogwarts classes started. Harry chuckled to himself - who would have thought he'd ever refer to the school term as a 'break'?

Shaking his head at imagining Ron and Neville's horrified reactions to that, he sprawled himself over his chair and eyed the tiny crystal bell perched on a nearby shelf. He would wait a few more minutes to see if Quenah was just running late before he called for a servant.

Just then something at eye-level drew his attention. It was a rolled piece of vellum tied with a gold and silver ribbon sitting innocently on the low table. He reached for it, picking it up and turning it over in his hands until he found where it was tied.

The inside was covered in green ink and had gold edging. Harry raised an eyebrow as he scanned it, the flowing script momentarily throwing him off. He hadn't yet reached the point where just glancing at a word in _Elwýntencelle_ was instantly recognisable to him. So, starting from the top, he focused and read it slowly.

"_Araëmel-aryón, son of Indilaira-aránelle, of the House of Caladharan,_

_ 'Tar'Thalyón and Tar'Allàwhta request your presence for the crowning of the heir to the throne of Elwýn on the following Moonsday. A celebratory ball will follow, including a banquet in honour of our prince. On this joyous day, we welcome back our lost prince and celebrate the return of our future king._

_This invitation is to be presented on arrival for admittance to the main throne room, and consequently, the main ballroom.'_

_ Grandson, the invitation above has been sent to all those invited to your celebratory ball. Preparations for the ceremony are underway and almost complete. After tomorrow, you will be excused from lessons in order to practice and learn your vows. Make sure you are prepared and do not disappoint us. _

_ Tar'Thalyón and Tar'Allàwhta"_

Harry re-read it again, just to be sure he hadn't accidentally misread it, but no, the whole thing was perfectly clear. Obviously his grandparents had been too busy to inform him in person, or even send Quenah to do it, and so they'd written him a letter and had had it delivered. But the whole thing was absurd. The crowning of the heir to the throne of _Elwý_? A ball? A banquet?

He read the last few lines again, just to be sure.

_"Do not _disappoint_ us?"_ he read out loud, slowly. _"_Vows_!?"_ Vows? In front of the entire Court? A crowning? Like with an actual crown and all the fanfare and pomp?

Harry realised his fists were clenched so hard he was creasing the vellum and slowly let the digits unfold. This was unbelievable. Of all the worst things that they could have done, they'd gone and done all three, and without even telling him!

He threw the parchment on the table and glared at it angrily. This was bloody rich. Too busy to even mention in passing at the breakfast or dinner table that 'Oh, by the way, we're having a ball in about a week, do try to brush up on your dancing skills, won't you?'

Was it too much to bleeding ask?

"Well you can sod off!" he announced to the empty room, wishing he could say it directly to their faces.

He paced back and forth angrily for the next couple of minutes, occasionally inflicting harm upon the innocent furniture. He ended up doing more harm to himself in the end. But the utter gall! It wasn't enough they had to brow-beat him into exhaustive lessons day in and day out and heap expectation upon expectation on his already weighted shoulders…Oh no, now they had to take that to a whole new level by throwing a bloody _ball!_

A knock on the door startled him out of his looping thoughts. Quenah had arrived. Harry prepared himself to jump down his mentor's throat - had he known about the ball? And if he had, _why hadn't he said anything?_

Drawing himself up with righteous anger, he grabbed the stupid letter and marched to the door. He'd begun speaking even before it opened fully. _"A ball? Celebration? What in Merlin's name is going on!? And you better hope you had no idea, because apparently this has been going on for awhile now. They sent the invitations already!"_ He waved the parchment in front of Quenah's startled eyes.

_"Ah, Your Highness...what…?"_

_ "This!"_ Harry snapped, shoving the paper against Quenah's chest with a bit more force than necessary.

It took Quenah a moment to compose himself. His clothes smoothed out with a soft whisper of air and he unfolded the vellum with quick, irritated movements. Not that his annoyance was betrayed on his face; that remained stoic.

_"Ah,"_ he said again, after he'd finished reading it. _"You are referring to the ball then, Araëmel?"_

Harry threw up his hands. _"Of course I'm bloody referring to the bloody ball! How can they…! UGH!"_ He took a deep breath and smoothed back his hair. It was growing out a bit and falling into his eyes now, which was annoying. _"Look, where do they get off just dumping this on me? I don't want to do some dumb ball."_

_"I'm afraid Your Highness has no choice,"_ Quenah chided him gently.

Harry narrowed his eyes. There it was again, that thrice-damned obsession with obeying everything that came out of Her bloody Royalness's mouth. He honestly wouldn't be surprised that if his grandmother ordered a mass suicide, they'd all attend happily. It was ridiculous - a line should be drawn, somewhere! He wasn't going to spend the rest of his summer holiday pandering to all these ridiculous demands. _"There's always a choice. I could _choose_ not to go. Or to leave. Go back to Earth, even."_

Quenah's expression opened in alarm. He glanced over his shoulder and quickly shut the door. Looked around again, just to be certain, he bent over Harry and whispered furiously, _"Do not ever insinuate such things, Araëmel! That is treason! Their Majesties must be obeyed in all things, even by you. I thought you understood that now?"_

Harry backed out from under Quenah's long, thin nose and sweeping silver hair. He crossed his arms stubbornly. _"Oh, I get it. And I think it's stupid. I deserve to have some say in my own life, thank you very much."_

Quenah's ears quivered as his jaw worked back and forth. _"Your Highness…"_ Then he sighed. _"Your Highness really is a child…"_

Harry's eyes narrowed again and his jaw clenched. _"Child this, child that! I get that you all see me as some naive little boy, but I've lived my own life up until now and I've been doing just fine on my own. I'm sixteen for Merlin's sake!"_

Quenah's brow furrowed in confusion. _"Exactly."_

Harry got the feeling one of them was missing the point here. He turned away, stalking over to the couch and flinging himself down with an angry thud. One ear cocked back to listen to the sound of Quenah's movements as he seated himself much more primly. _"Your Highness,"_ he tried again, soothingly, like he was talking to a wounded animal. _"Araëmel. This ceremony is important. Their Majesties need to reassure the people that you have been found and are safe, and that the kingdom does indeed have an heir of the blood. It will be a simple matter, and you will need to become accustomed to such festivities eventually. It is better to start when you are young."_ His tone turned chiding, again. _"And you do not wish to make Their Majesties angry with your childish display of refusal. They have ways of making such displays of behaviour very uncomfortable for you. It is also unbefitting of a prince. A prince must be gracious and accepting of these kinds of duties."_

Harry felt appropriately chastened, but that didn't lessen the anger still bubbling away in his chest at the way his life had been turned upside-down. His grandparents had marched into his life and had ordered him to do this and that and he had agreed because he wanted this to work, because he felt he would benefit from the training and honestly, anything was better than a summer with the Dursleys…but now they were throwing ridiculous ceremonies in his face? He felt he must have finally reached his limit. Besides, he had never asked to be _Prince._ His parents hadn't wanted this life for him and he'd been shoved into it anyway. He'd make a terrible King...couldn't his grandparents just have another kid and fob all the responsibilities off on them? They were certainly young enough. Why were they trying to put the burden on _his _shoulders?

Harry wasn't done yet, but Quenah seemed to think the matter closed and Harry, tired of arguing with one of the few people he could count on in this place, decided to leave the matter be for the moment. He'd bring it up with his grandparents later, the queen's scary temper be damned. Nothing could be worse than Snape on a bad day anyway. And while he was at it, he was going to ask for a way to send a letter back to Ron and Hermione – his grandparents owed him that much at least.

* * *

Apparently no one had informed Their Esteemed Majesties that they owed their grandson anything. Harry tried to see them that evening, then the next morning, but all he could manage was a brief greeting over breakfast before the queen swept off to go deal with something or other and Harry was left with his grandfather. It was the first time he'd ever been alone in a room with just one of his grandparents, so he eyed the older elf warily, munching on a piece of sweetened bread so his hands were occupied and wouldn't run nervously through his hair and make it stick up like a bird's nest

_"You have something to say,"_ his grandfather observed calmly, selecting something new for his plate. He tweaked his fingers towards his empty goblet and a

_buim__úl_ servant immediately stepped forward to refill it.

Harry pulled himself up to sit straight. Damn right he had something to say...but first things first, before he could put the king in a bad mood, it would be a good idea to make his request. _"Yeah, I mean, yes, I do. I'd like to send a letter to my friends."_

_"Friends?"_ his grandfather inquired pleasantly, with that hint of condescension that was beginning to really tick Harry off. Every damn 'adult' did it. Couldn't they stop viewing him as some kind of child long enough to have a serious conversation with him without sounding like they were just humouring him? He wasn't five!

_"Yes," _he managed to get out, despite gritted teeth. He relaxed his jaw. _"My friends, back in the human realm. I'm sure they're worried about me."_

The king slowly put down his food and focused all his attention on Harry, no longer humouring him. _"You wish to assuage the worries of human children?"_ There was that tell-tale sneer of disgust at the word 'human'.

Harry bristled. _"They're my friends!" _

_ "Mind your tone!"_

Harry took a deep breath. _"They're my friends,"_ he repeated more calmly, politely. _"They've been through a lot with me. Saved my life, even. And I want to write to them. Please."_

The king stared at him for the longest time, like one would stare at a particularly puzzling Arthimancy problem. _"I will think about it,"_ he said at long last. He took a sip from his sweet-water. _"In the meantime, consider your preparations for the ceremony. There cannot be any mistakes."_

Harry held his tongue, predicting where this was going. 'I'll think about it' really meant, 'It depends on your behaviour'. He'd seen the tactic before, with Mrs. Weasley and the twins. It never ended well when the twins tried to circumvent the stipulation. Hiding his scowl, he nodded. _"Yes, sir."_

The king's eyebrow twitched.

_"Your Majesty,"_ Harry quickly corrected.

His grandfather smiled. It was a much softer smile than the queen's, but still no less stern. The king stood to leave. As he passed Harry, he brushed a hand over his hair, a soft, gentle touch that left Harry stunned. He didn't think anyone besides Sirius had ever touched him like that. He turned to watch his grandfather's green clothed back exit the breakfast room with consideration.

Well, at least he knew which of his grandparents to go to with iffy requests. That was something, at least. He honestly doubted the queen would have given him the time of day.

He turned back around to finish his breakfast.

* * *

Harry felt like he couldn't breathe. From the left, from the right, from everywhere around him he was fenced in. He was suffocating under the immense pressure of the past couple of days: the vows, the preparations, the practice, the clothes. If he wasn't being poked and prodded by a multitude of tailors, the goldsmiths were hounding him. Or if he wasn't being forced to recite vows again and again, he was being made to walk down the centre of the empty throne room like he was practicing to get married - if even a single step was wrong, he had to start all over again.

It was just one thing after another, and it had all happened so fast Harry had hardly had time to think on it - he just did it. But the stress of the past few days was catching up to him, and he needed to escape, or suffer a mental breakdown. So, with that in mind, he sneaked out.

When he was finally left to his own devices for five minutes, Harry quickly pocketed the overly creased piece of vellum containing the vows he had to memorise, and tiptoed out of his room and down the hall. When no one seemed to be coming, he made a dash for the doors and cracked them open.

The guards on the other side turned to stare at him.

Harry raised a finger to his lips and looked at them beseechingly. Exchanging glances, they slowly turned their heads back to face the front, and Harry slipped out the doors and made a dash for the end of the long hall. If he could manage to get as far as possible from the tower before his next torturer showed up, then he might be able to snatch a few hours for himself.

He wasn't a moment too soon. He'd just leapt off the last stair and dashed into a side-hall when the royal tailor and her group of underlings rounded a different corner and headed for the stairs.

Harry waited for them to pass, and then continued on his way. There was one place he could go where he knew no one would look for him - Meldir's apartments.

Harry hadn't seen Meldir, nor Taswa, for a good week now; he'd simply been too busy. The last few times he'd manage to track them down before this mess, he'd been eager to implement his new social skills. It was startling the difference it made. He received far less suspicious looks and Taswa didn't spend every other sentence reprimanding him for his bad decorum.

He didn't know if Taswa would be around, but at least he could go chat with Meldir for an hour to two - he desperately needed the mental break. More than that, he really just needed to be around someone with whom he didn't have to keep up all these airs. What he wouldn't give for Ron and Hermione at the moment!

It took him well over an hour to get down to the third section of the palace because as soon as Harry had been discovered MIA, every royal guard had been deployed to find him and bring him back. No doubt his grandparents would be _furious_ with him, but Harry was beyond caring by this point. He'd had quite enough of their silly, stuffy formalities, and it's not like it would kill them to let him off for a few hours. He had his vows down pat, his clothes were ready (it was only the tailor's obsession with perfection that made her keep coming back to alter them), and he was also pretty sure that by this point he could navigate the throne room in his sleep.

After having successfully managed to find his way there after a few wrong turns, Harry found himself knocking softly on Meldir's apartment door.

Eruahna opened the door.

_"Araëmel!"_ she beamed in surprise. She quickly dipped a curtsy and greeted him warmly. Harry, smug in his new ability to interact socially without drawing ten kinds of weird stares, replied in kind, using the bow for Upper House children to elders of lower rank which he'd bullied out of his etiquette teacher a few weeks ago. Then he added, _"Is Meldir in?"_

Eruahna laughed, glancing over her shoulder and opening the door wider. _"Yes, yes he is. Please come in."_

Harry stepped in with a blossoming sense of relief. All the tension seemed to evaporate only moments after the door was shut behind him. He was safe now - the guards wouldn't think to look for him in an apartment belonging to the lower echelons of the Houses.

_"Please be seated,"_ murmured Eruahna, motioning forward a lurking _buimúl_ servant, _"I'll go fetch my brother."_

Harry nodded and collapsed gratefully onto their couch. Eruahna disappeared though an open arch and he eventually heard her footsteps go up what sounded like stairs before disappearing. He'd never been past the receiving room so he honestly didn't know how big the apartment was, or how many levels it had. It could be like his tower, with multiple dining rooms, bedrooms, and floors. He nodded at the servant as she brought him refreshments and then retreated.

It didn't take long before he heard two sets of footsteps growing closer, and Harry twisted his head, ears cocked, just in time to watch Meldir and his sister come back into the main sitting room.

_"Araëmel,"_ greeted Meldir cheerfully, only dipping into the standard greeting bow when his sister glared at him sternly. When she wasn't looking, he rolled his eyes at Harry, who fought to hide his grin. It spread across his face anyway. Reasonable company, finally!

Eruahna hovered over the two of them for a moment. Her eyes flickered over Harry a few times and Harry notice with exasperation that there was a steadily growing look of confusion on her face. What had he done wrong this time?

_"Sis,"_ Meldir complained at her hovering.

Eruahna cuffed the back of his head lightly at his rudeness, shot Harry yet another strange look, then quietly retreated.

_"She was looking at me like I'd grown horns,"_ Harry said as soon as he thought she was out of earshot.

Meldir shrugged. _"Hm. Don't see why."_ But his eyes scanned Harry anyway, and Harry caught a brief flash of confusion before Meldir appeared to dismiss it and went back to grinning. _"Nah, it was nothing."_

Harry was beginning to think he _had_ done something (again), but if Meldir didn't think it was important, he wouldn't worry about it. He turned his attention to more interesting things, like talking about everything and nothing with Meldir. He complained about his grandparents, his tutors, and the expectations, and listened in turn as Meldir complained about his own lessons. The topic eventually wound round to classmates, and Meldir grew even more excited. He leaned forward, as if imparting a great secret. _"You should have been there yesterday! You'll never believe what we learned...okay, well, maybe you will, being Upper House and everything."_

Harry had a niggling feeling he knew where this was going. _"Okay, what?"_

_ "The prince!" _Meldir exclaimed. _"There's to be a ceremony! Apparently Mother and Father received the invitation a few days ago, but Eruahna didn't tell me because they were still deciding whether or not to let me go! But all the other House children were bragging about going in class yesterday, so you can imagine how stupid I felt being the only one not knowing what it was about."_ Harry made a noise of sympathy. _"Anyway, so I told Eurahna that I'm old enough to know how to behave at a ball, and she said she'd talk to Mother and Father, so I think I'm going! Are you going?"_

Harry rolled his eyes skyward. _"Oh, I'll be there, alright."_ In fact, he was beginning to wonder if he ought to maybe tell Meldir and Taswa who he was. He didn't want it to come as a shock during the ball. He didn't want them to think he'd been using them or lying to them because he was looking down on them. He worried his lip, thinking.

The whole situation was complete bollocks. He resented being forced to reveal himself in the first place. He'd hoped to have a simple acquaintance free of any expectations or social obligations. Now he was being put in a position where it was inevitable that they find out and he didn't want them treating him any differently because of it. He didn't want this to be another 'Boy-Who-Lived' scenario - he got enough of that in the wizarding world.

_"Do you know where Taswa is?"_ he finally asked.

_"Practicing, no doubt."_

_ "Where?"_

_ "At the training grounds...why?"_

Harry dithered for a while longer. Tell them now…or…

They'd find out anyway, he realised. There was no avoiding it. Meldir would see him at the ball and tell Taswa. With Harry's luck they'd never speak to him again. They weren't his best friends – he'd only known them barely a month – but they were decent and friendly company, and if Harry were being honest, the _only _friendly company. All the others his age seemed like stuck-up brats, and was it really worth jeopardising this growing friendship over something that wasn't even really a secret to begin with?

Mind made up, Harry stood. _"Come on, let's go."_ Then he paused. _"But, uh, we're going to have to be sneaky about it, alright?"_

Meldir's face creased in suspicion and his ears went up. _"What? Why?"_

_ "Um...well...I might have snuck out of a lesson, so my grandparents will have sent people looking for me, and I want to avoid being seen…"_ Okay, so that sounded as bad as it was. Fortunately, Meldir wasn't a stranger to disobedience or adventure. His eyes sparkled and a sly grin pulled his lips up into a smirk. _"Seriously? You snuck out? That's… pretty bold."_

Harry smirked back. _"Well, they were smothering me. A guy's got to have _some_ free time, right?"_

_"From what you've told me, definitely,"_ Meldir sympathised. He periodically liked to express his astonishment at the amount of pressure Harry was under. He often commented that Harry was 'only sixteen' and that having to do that much work at 'only sixteen' was criminal. From what Harry understood, elvin society put a lot less pressure on teens to figure out what they wanted to do with their lives than they did in the human world. Then again, with centuries to live, he supposed they could take their time deciding.

Which was why he figured an afternoon to himself wasn't too much to ask.

Harry and Meldir made good time sneaking down to the training grounds. Meldir was invaluable as a look-out, able to scout the hall for anyone suspicious before Harry emerged from his various hiding places around corners and doorways. It reminded Harry a little wistfully of sneaking around Hogwarts during curfew, but this time he didn't have his invisibility cloak to rely on. They were spotted a few times, but none of the guards saw them. Harry half expected Meldir to suddenly stop and demand to know why Harry kept ducking out of sight at the approach of Royal Guards – or even what Royal Guards were doing in the lower palace in the first place – but strangely he said nothing.

* * *

Taswa could indeed be found hacking away at a passable imitation for a humanoid body. She was in one of the smaller training fields, ones Harry had never had cause to enter before, and was dressed in her usual beige-toned tunic and slacks. Her blonde hair clung to her neck and cheeks and her face was red from exertion. Meldir called out a quick greeting and then exclaimed, _"Come rest awhile, you look like you've been at that all morning!"_

_ "I have,"_ Taswa responded shortly after her own, deeper bow of greeting to Harry and Mel. When she straightened, wiping sweat from her brow, she peered at Harry more closely and...for Merlin's sake this was the third time today!

_"What?_" he finally snapped. _"Why does everyone keep staring at me like that?"_

Taswa set her practice sword to the side and approached slowly. She ran her eyes up Harry, frowned, squinted at him, then shook her head, flinging bits of blonde hair to the wind. _"Its...well, just...I could swear that's…"_ She suddenly laughed, nervously. _"No, never mind. I'm just being silly."_

_"Silly about what?"_ Harry demanded. What new social faux pas had he committed this time? It was frustrating knowing he was making a mistake, but not how to fix it.

Taswa hesitated. Next to him, Meldir fidgeted. Harry leaned against a nearby wooden post and waited. One of them would crack eventually. Probably Meldir, but maybe Taswa would feel obligated to inform him of what he'd done wrong. He was frankly surprised she hadn't reprimanded him already. She was fond of mother-henning.

Finally, Taswa squared her shoulders and marched over. She gestured to, well, _all_ of him, and said, _"It's your dress. You've worn different colours every time we've seen you and now you...I must be mistaken but that green is very similar to the Royal green. But I am mistaken."_

Oh. Harry could have smacked himself. Of course! He knew about House colours. Every House, Upper and Lower, had their own personal colours. All their formal dress incorporated these colours, and it was the reason his room was full of greens. The House of Noiar's colours were a pale, sky blue and light beige. And the Royal colours...well, there was a reason the king and queen tended to wear that particular shade of green, ornamented with gold and silver. Green was a colour permitted only to the highest ranked Houses, or those with personal ties to the Royal Family, so there were very few individuals who could get away with wearing it so openly. Especially specific shades, though if you had asked Harry which shades belonged to whom, he couldn't have said.

He actually hadn't been considering what he was wearing when he'd left the tower. Every other time he'd gone to meet up with Meldir and Taswa, he'd dressed more casually in an attempt to make them feel more at ease, but he'd never once thought about the significance of the colours. Of course most of his more formal attire would be in _that_ particular shade of green – the one that basically put a giant neon sign above his head that screamed, 'I am related to royalty'!

This revelation made the situation both harder and more difficult. He knew he'd dragged Meldir down here with the intention of gently breaking the news to them both that, well, 'by the way, I'm the prince. Hi.' but he hadn't yet worked out how to do so. This might be a good conversation starter.

_"That's...well, I guess that's what I'd like to talk to you about. My, um, House. I think, before this whole ceremony thing kind of reveals everything, you guys really ought to know the truth. I mean, you've been pretty decent, letting me hang out with you, so it's only fair I tell you before you find out in a couple days…"_ He ran a hand through his hair and finished with a shrugged. _"So…yeah."_

To fend off the questions and exclamations ready to spout from their mouths, Harry quickly suggested they head into the forest to find some privacy. He was also wary of being spotted out in the open. The guards would look for him outside eventually, so he'd rather be somewhere less conspicuous, out of sight, lest he be frog-marched back to the tower.

They entered the cool dappled shade of the forest on silent feet. Harry took the lead, stepping nimbly over upturned roots and scattered flora. When the trees began to grow closer together he finally stumbled across a fallen tree trunk and seated himself on its mossy back. Taswa chose to lean against another tree trunk a few metres away, and Meldir plopped down on a thick tree root and stretched his legs out. He looked up at Harry expectantly.

Taswa was suspicious of all the secrecy. _"May I ask why we are doing this? Why have you kept this so secret? I cannot fathom the reason."_

Harry tugged at some moss self-consciously. Really, he needed to be delicate about this, but he was struggling to come up with a way that wouldn't just slam them with the truth like a bludger to the face. _"Look,"_ he began, keeping his voice neutral and his speech casual, _"I didn't want you to treat me differently if you knew who I was. I like the anonymity. So please, can you promise not to freak out?"_

Taswa's brows drew together sharply. Her eyes darted to his clothes, his face, then down to the ground. She frowned at the forest floor.

_"You know, we already know you're from an Upper House. I just haven't been able to figure out which one,"_ Meldir pointed out. His ears suddenly stiffened in revelation. _"Oh! Is it secret? Or was there some scandal...wait, no, I'm sure we would have heard _something_…"_

_ "Meldirlion!" _Taswa snapped. _"Don't be crass."_

Meldir mumbled an apology, but Harry flashed him a reassuring look. He didn't mind the speculation, but there was no point trying to argue Taswa out of her sensibilities. And honestly, with the pressure she was under, he could understand her reticence. He hoped that one day she'd feel safe enough to completely relax in the presence of friends, and not constantly have to worry about putting a toe out of line. Which is why this conversation needed to be handled delicately, as Hermione would say.

Harry shifted thoughtfully. Maybe if he eased them into it, started with something a bit more simple...like...like maybe how he wasn't _always_ Prince Araëmel, but Just Harry getting by day by day at the hell-hole called the Dursleys...maybe they would understand.

_"Okay...so...it is kind of a secret. Well, it was a secret that even I didn't know about. I've kind of been living with my aunt most of my life, after my parents died, and she never told me anything, so until my grandparents came and carted me off this summer, I didn't know."_

He received a couple of blank looks, which slowly morphed to horror.

_"Your parents died?"_ whispered Taswa, looking positively stricken. She appeared as if she were about to step forward and hug him, but remembered herself at the last moment. _"Oh."_ That 'oh' was significant somehow. She sounded as if that one revelation had solved all the mysteries surrounding Harry in one fell swoop.

_"That's awful!"_ Meldir exclaimed, looking uncomfortable.

Harry didn't want their pity. _"It's fine,"_ he interrupted quickly, _"They died a long time ago, I only remember them a little. I was only one."_

_ "So your aunt raised you," _Taswa finished.

Harry nodded. _"Yes. But apparently she kept my existence secret from my grandparents. They thought I'd died with my parents, but I hadn't. They found out this summer and brought me back, and they've been going kind of nuts ever since."_

_ "That's why you're so busy,"_ Meldir realised. _"They've been trying to teach you all the things you _should_ have known. But what about your aunt? Why didn't she raise you properly?"_

Taswa nodded emphatically. She cut a sharp gesture with her hand. _"Yes. It seems absurd that she wouldn't. It would only be proper for her to hire all the best tutors regardless."_

_ "But she was hiding him,"_ Meldir pointed out.

Taswa's expression soured. That didn't sit well with her. _"That's simply not right."_

Harry's lips twitched in amusement. Meldir and Taswa were really rather amusing sometimes. They always had these kinds of social arguments. He interrupted before they could really get into it and Meldir wound Taswa up tighter than a bowstring. _"Meldir's right. She was trying to keep it all secret. She didn't want me to have to be subjected to all the pomp and circumstance of my...um, position, I guess. Plus, she's not particularly fond of me. She spoils my cousin rotten though."_ He made a face. Perhaps if Dudley weren't usually attempting to emulate a pig ready for slaughter, it might be more believable that he had elvish blood. His hair was certainly a very pure shade of blonde, like Aunt Petunia's. And his eyes were quite bright, despite their piggish folds. And really, now he was picturing Dudley the Whale with long pointy ears and glowing skin and...ugh.

_"Where did you grow up, if I might ask?"_ Taswa interrupted Harry's down-spiralling thoughts, rather fortuitously, he decided.

_"Okay, so this is part of the 'please don't freak out' part."_

_ "This ought to be good,"_ Meldir muttered.

_"My aunt...well, my parents were living in the human world when I was born. Oh, great, no, will you please stop freaking out?"_ Harry groaned and pulled up a whole handful of moss. Letting it fall, he scrubbed at his face and sighed. He waited for Taswa to stop exclaiming and Meldir to stop babbling.

_"This is not a good joke!_" Taswa accused, _"I do not appreciate being tricked!"_

_ "Humans! Like, _humans_ humans? Stars above, was it horrible? Did they try to eat you? Did you have to disguise yourself? Was it awful? I'm so glad your grandparents rescued you! What about your aunt? Don't tell me she's still there? Why would she be there? Why would anyone want to go there? Humans are awful! They killed the princess, you know! Did your parents know the princess? Wait, do you know the prince? Is he okay? Was he really there? Can you tell me-"_

_ "Enough, Mel! Get a grip! It's not true...It cannot be true. There is no conceivable way that Their Majesties would have allowed any House member to go to the human world, not after the princess-"_

_ "But-"_

_ "Hold on!" _Harry shouted as Taswa and Meldir looked about ready to take their shouting to the next level. _"I can explain!" _

Taswa gave him one of her sternest looks. She stood there, the epitome of disgruntlement and steely disapproval, and Harry was reminded of Percy Weasley. He shook his head to dislodge the disquieting thought.

_"Please, I would appreciate an honest explanation. This is really not the time for jokes in bad taste."_

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up. Taswa's hand jerked a little, fingers twitching, like she wanted to smooth it down. Meldir didn't even notice, too busy hovering over his previous seat, shifting from foot to foot in excitement. His face was expectant.

_"I'm not lying. This isn't a joke. Why else would we come out here to talk about it? I...grew up there, with humans. I thought I _was_ human until this summer." _He gestured around him. _"All of this...this is my first time here. It's all new to me. Elwýn, the Houses, everything. All this etiquette too...I know I make mistakes, but cut me some slack. I'm still trying to figure this all out."_

Taswa slowly slumped in disbelief, sagging against the tree trunk. She stared at him with new eyes. _"You...you're not joking."_

Harry shook his head.

_"This is like the books," _Meldir breathed in awe. _"I can't believe you're a real-life adventurer! What was it like? Was it dangerous? Is that why you're so good at everything, because you've been running from humans all your life?"_

Harry really had to question exactly what they were teaching young elves if they all thought humans were savages with spears who hunted down all non-humans. Okay, well, so maybe it was partially correct. Humans could be awful, but then _Elwý_ couldn't talk. Their society was pretty stagnant and biased as well. Look at the servants who might as well be slaves. And that whole business with kicking the other species out of _Elwýn_ after arriving in this realm hadn't sat quite right with him. And they wanted to talk about human cruelty?

_"Okay, first of all, humans aren't all bad. I've got plenty of good friends. I'm sure you'd like them if you met them. Taswa, you'd probably get along with Hermione like a house on fire. Mel, I bet you'd like the twins, Fred and George. They're always looking for fun."_

Both Meldir and Taswa gave him looks like he'd been hit one too many times on the head as a child.

_"I don't want to discuss the humans, I want to know how such a terrible travesty could even occur!"_ Taswa exclaimed.

_"And what about the prince?"_ Meldir added stubbornly, clearly fixated on the idea of harrowing adventure and daring rescue.

_"Well…"_ Harry trailed off. This was the hard part. How did he introduce the idea that maybe those two concepts were related without having them panic even more? _"That's kind of...related."_ Or he could just blurt it out. That worked. Kind of.

Taswa's eyes travelled to his clothes and stopped. Harry could see her mind working, coming to the right conclusion but discarding it again and again in denial, or because she simply couldn't wrap her mind around the idea that _Harry_ could be the prince. He had the feeling they wouldn't be able to realise the truth until he spelled it out, because they would both try to rationalise it away, time and again.

Or maybe they would reach the right conclusion. Meldir stared at him with a look torn between hero worship and sickly terror. He shook his head, once, twice, then mumbled, _"No way. No way, no way, no way!"_

Harry picked at the moss again. He spoke to the air between them, rather than risk watching their facial expressions. _"I'm told my mother wanted to experience the human world, learn human magic and science, that's why she went. And my father followed her. And so did my aunt, to get away from the Court. And...there was a war, between a dark wizard called Voldemort-" _for once no one flinched at the name_ "-and the rest, and my parents got involved and refused to return here, to safety. I...I remember a little bit, and I remember she said she preferred living in the human world, because she could be free of all the social obligations she had here. So they stayed, and they fought, but Voldemort found them and he killed them, and he tried to kill me too, but something my mother must have done saved me, so I lived." _His explanation sped up. He was trying to get it all out in one go, so he wouldn't have to think about it. It was weird, explaining his life, when for so long everyone else had known more about it than him. _"I got sent to live with my aunt…I guess you know she was exiled or something for marrying a human. I kind of admit he's really an awful example of a human. And my cousin's just as…"_ he wrinkled his nose, searching for the right word, _"...piggish. Anyway, she - my aunt - never told me and I went to school there like my parents and I thought that was it until the Royal Guard showed up in my aunt's living room one morning, saw me, and dragged me back here. My grandparents have been going crazy ever since. And that's the truth." _He paused, daring himself to look at them.

Taswa...Taswa was on the ground in probably the most undignified position he'd ever seen her in. Her legs were limp and she leaned against the tree, staring at the ground with a vacant, mournful expression. As Harry watched, she squeezed her eyes shut and hid her face in her hands. There was something awful about her posture – it was like looking at someone who'd lost all hope.

Harry swallowed, mouth dry – what the hell kind of reaction was _that?_ He swept his gaze over Meldir, hoping for something better. The other elf's mouth was open, jaw working but no sound emerging. He was looking at Harry, and when their eyes locked, he ducked his head, staring furiously at the ground with the most serious, thoughtful expression he'd ever displayed.

He licked his lips._"Look, I didn't mean to lie to you, but I didn't want you to treat me any differently just because I was the…"_ He couldn't say it.

Taswa finished for him, voice muffled. _"Prince. The prince."_ Her hand slowly fell and her eyes flickered to his for the briefest instant. Then, stiffly, she rose to her feet and stumbled forward in front of Harry. Just as stiffly she sank to the ground on both knees, bent, and placed her forehead straight on the ground. _"This unworthy one has committed treason and begs whatever punishment is seen fit."_

Harry paled. He shot to his feet, noting out of the corner of his eye that Meldir had scrambled to follow Taswa's example. _"Wait a minute!"_ he exclaimed, _"You didn't do anything wrong!"_

_Merlin's underpants! It's not _that_ big a deal!_ he gaped.

Taswa gulped audibly, let out a hissed breath, but otherwise said nothing. Meldir tried to peek up at him, but thought better of it. He looked nauseous and confused.

_"I'm serious!"_ Harry shouted, gesturing wildly. Of course, neither of the two saw because they were too busy pressing their noses into the dirt, so he ran a hand roughly through his hair and tugged at the ends. _"_Bloody Hell. _This is ridiculous! Tell me what you think you've done so I can assure you you're wrong."_

Taswa finally rose to a more standard kneel, but kept her head down. Meldir imitated her quickly. When she spoke, it was with the utmost deference and Harry had a hard time following. _"This lowly Unnamed has dared to give orders to Your Royal Highness, chastened Your Royal Highness, addressed Your Royal Highness as an equal, _touched_ Your Royal Highness, insulted Their Esteemed Majesties, subverted Their will-"_

_ "Enough!" _Harry held up a hand, disbelieving. She was serious. He knew Taswa was a stickler for rules but...but rules like that shouldn't apply to children, or friendships, for that matter. _"Stop,"_ he reiterated softly, _"You didn't know. I purposefully didn't tell you, so you can't be held accountable for that, either of you."_

Taswa was silent. She looked badly like she wanted to disagree, but didn't dare contradict Harry. Meldir had no such compunctions. He looked up worriedly. _"Eruahna's going to _kill_ me, regardless."_

Harry could well imagine. _"Um, I'll explain it to her. I'm sure you'll be fine. We're pretty much friends and those sorts of rules shouldn't apply."_

Meldir looked both elated and terrified at the prospect. _"B-but I'm just a Lower House member... I'm nobody! …Your Highness!"_

Taswa elbowed him sharply and hissed out of the corner of her mouth, _"Do not talk back to His Royal Highness, Meldir!"_ When she realised Harry was right there, definitely close enough to hear, she went red and her ears dipped violently in embarrassment.

Meldir sealed his mouth. Harry came to the conclusion if he was going to have any hope of keeping this…whatever it was…intact, he would have to convince Taswa first. She was the one, he knew, who was most uncertain about her position. The one who lived in constant fear that one day she'd be chucked out of the palace and her life's dreams would crumble into dust. This was going to have to be a very delicate operation – he'd need to employ every ounce of tact Aunt Petunia had scolded into him.

He paced towards her and promptly crouched down to her level, so he could see her eyes. The action surprised her so much she looked up, just briefly, but it was enough for him to seize her gaze and hold it.

_"I told you I'm not good with all this etiquette nonsense. My friends back home wouldn't give a soggy rat's behind whether or not I was some elvin prince, cause I'd still be Harry. I mean, Araëmel. That's my human name,"_ he explained when he saw the question lurking in her gaze. He sat back on his heels, trying to get comfortable. He doubted she could be very comfortable kneeling like that. _"The point is, I would never expect you to treat me like that. And I promise I'd never get you in trouble for just being a friend. That's not how friendships work."_

Taswa considered this. Her gaze dropped again, and Harry thought he'd lost her, but she looked up, expression back to being stern. _"Your Highness, it is simply not _right_."_

Well, it was progress, at least. She was being assertive again. _"Don't you think I should have the right to dictate who I want to be friends with? It's my life."_

_"Your Royal Highness is the _prince_,"_ she replied firmly.

Harry rolled his eyes. _"Okay,"_ he agreed, _"So I'm the prince. But that's not all I am. I'm also just _me._ The same me you've been getting to know this whole time. I think it's only fair that you give me a chance."_

_ "Your Highness I'm _Unnamed_,"_ she stressed, voice hitching.

_ "So?"_ Harry countered quickly. _"I don't care, honest."_

Taswa's brow drew together in confusion. _"It's not…" _she trailed off. _"Their Majesties won't…"_ She suddenly stopped and clamped her mouth shut.

Ah. And it was back to this again. Harry glanced over at Meldir, who was watching the exchange with wide eyes. When Harry caught his gaze, he flushed. He looked down shyly. _"I like Your Highness very much,"_ he mumbled, _"but we'd be in so much trouble. Eruahna's really going to kill me." _He seemed more afraid of his sister's reaction to his bad manners than he did of the king and queen's. Eruahna's displeasure probably seemed like a more immediate threat. Harry was sure as soon as he reassured Meldir that Eruahna was not, in fact, going to kill him, Mel would loosen up.

_"You know, there are perks to being my friend,"_ Harry offered enticingly. _"Like, I bet you wouldn't have to worry about being kicked out of Melcacrist's class. If anyone complained I'm sure I could tell them to leave you alone."_

Taswa choked. She glanced across at him mournfully. _"Your Royal Highness is kind, but Their Majesties'…."_

Harry got it, he did. He knew how rigid his grandparents could be, and the threat of their displeasure was likely far more terrifying than Harry's. But surely...surely they couldn't do anything terrible just for being _friends?_ And surely, if he asked, they would leave anyone he called a friend alone. He could probably barter with them, if worst came to worst. Offer to take his etiquette more seriously, stop complaining about the workload. Offer to take additional lessons - something. If that failed, he could always threaten to do something drastic. And besides, at the end of the day, weren't they going to hand over the throne to him? So shouldn't he be allowed to make some decisions like this for himself?

_"I can deal with my grandparents. I promise you won't get in trouble. I'm going to be frank, there's really no one else to talk to around here. All the others are way too stuck up."_

Taswa groaned and pressed her head back into the dirt. He heard her mumble, _"Why me?"_ He doubted he was supposed to hear it.

_ "Your Highness promises?" _Meldir piped up hopefully.

Harry shot him a reassuring grin. _"Yeah. 'Course. I think I have the right to choose my friends, and if they complain I'll think of something to distract them with. I don't want you to get in trouble for my sake...but honestly? I think they have more important things to be worrying about than who I hang out with."_ He rolled his eyes. _"This stupid ball, for one. They're going nuts over it. I've been measured and poked so many times by now I'm surprised I'm not a pincushion." _He hoped throwing a joke or two into the mix might put them at ease. Unfortunately it backfired, because Taswa went rigid and Meldir merely goggled.

Harry finally folded himself down on the ground. He wasn't going to keep crouching there and he had a feeling this would take longer than expected. Meldir promptly did the same, sitting still and keeping his head down, occasionally peeking through his hair to judge the atmosphere.

_"Taswa, get up," _said Harry, hoping to have the remainder of the conversation in a civilised manner. Taswa raised her head - a start - but refused to stop kneeling.

_"Sit," _Harry prompted.

Taswa hesitated – clearly conflicted.

_"That's an order,"_ Harry added.

Taswa's fingers clenched over her knee. She fought between the need to obey an order from her prince and the need to remain proper. Fortunately, for Harry's sake, the order won out in the end and she sat, slowly, whole body tensed like a deer ready to bolt at the slightest movement. It made Harry want to treat her like a frightened animal.

_"Good,"_ he soothed. _"That's progress at least."_

Taswa's lips twisted momentarily. Harry grinned. _"Admit it, you want to scold me for being improper. You can, you know. I know it makes you feel better."_ He'd endured enough of Hermione's rants about homework that one of Taswa's scoldings was nothing in comparison.

_"This unworthy one would not _dare._"_

_ "I hate that register. That whole speaking up or down to someone. Everyone should be equal."_

Taswa actually broke her staring contest with the ground long enough to look up in shock. _"What?"_ she gasped. Then she slammed her lips closed and ducked her head.

_"I know that's not how things work here, but in the human world, they do. Everyone's equal, or at least they're supposed to be, in theory. But no person's life is ever worth less than another's."_

Both Taswa and Meldir adopted looks of befuddlement, the concept clearly completely alien to them. _"Excepting Your Highness, though, right?"_ Meldir added, voice rising in obvious confusion.

_"Nope. Even my life's not worth the lives of the rest of my peers. That's my mindset, the kind of mindset I grew up in. I know it's hard to understand but I don't see either of you as being beneath me. When I say we're friends, I mean as equals." _He'd take this patiently and slowly and hopefully he'd get through years of social conditioning. He could tell they both _wanted_ to be his friend, so that wasn't the problem. They liked Araëmel the No-Name, but feared Araëmel the Prince. So he just had to get them to overlook that.

Part of him wondered if all this fuss was even worth it, then he remembered that the only other people he could talk to around here were Quenah and his grandparents. Harry steeled himself for the battle ahead.

_ "It's not right,"_ Taswa mumbled, more to herself than anything. _"It's wrong…"_

Harry reached out a hand and hesitantly grasped her shoulder. She went still as stone, eyes impossibly wide. _"Shouldn't that be for me to decide?"_

_"Y-your Highness is...is…"_

Harry let go of her shoulder. _"I touched you, and look, neither of us were struck by lightning."_

There was a moment of confused silence. Meldir asked, _"Why would anyone be struck by lightning?"_

Harry waved off the reference. Right, of course they wouldn't know what that meant. _"Never mind, point is, I'm asking you, as a _friend_,"_ he emphasised,_ "to give me a chance."_

Taswa chewed her lip. Meldir trembled where he sat...from excitement. _"I want to, Your Highness! Please! I swear I shall be the best Royal Guard and I will guard Your Highness with my life and I will keep Your Highness safe from the humans and-"_ He cut off as Taswa elbowed him again. _"Apologies."_

Ducking her head again, Taswa ventured a question. _"If Your Highness may permit me a question?"_

Harry barely held in his sigh. _"Go ahead."_

_"Your Highness uses the common language."_ It was a statement, not a question, but Harry received the message loud and clear: _why_?

_"Because I can't stand the stuffiness. And because there's no way for me to express myself properly if I use all that posh nonsense. How can I say 'please' or 'thank you' or 'sorry' if I'm talking down to someone?"_

Taswa looked positively horrified at the prospect. _"But you are the prince!"_ she burst out. _"You must nev-"_ she cut herself off right then and there, even more horrified that she'd dared reprimand him in her usual manner. Harry grinned.

_"Yeah, yeah, I've heard it all before. My language tutor, Quenah, gets all huffy about it too. You'd like him, probably."_

_ "Eruahna's the same," _agreed Meldir cheerfully. He relaxed a little into his seat and appeared perfectly content with the situation. He kept staring at Harry though, making him a little nervous. The stare reminded him of Colin Creevey with his camera.

_"Because it's improper!" _Taswa snapped at her friend. Meldir pulled a face.

Harry tried a different tactic. _"Perhaps,"_ he agreed. Taswa looked at him in surprise. _"But not all the time. I'd never have any friends if I had to speak like that to everyone I met. And let me tell you, not having friends is miserable."_

And it was like finally, _finally_, something shifted in Taswa's expression. She looked at him, really _looked_ at him, and a slow sadness crept across her face. She gazed off to the side, and forgetting herself completely, agreed. _"Yes. It is. I understand. Your Highness has been alone. Your...The prince and princess tragically...tragically…" _She couldn't bring herself to say it to Harry's face. For a moment Harry felt a spike of irritation at her pity, but looking more deeply into her words and her expression, he realised she was reminiscing and it occurred to him that perhaps she and Meldir had not always been friends. She looked at him again. _"For Your Highness's sake, this unworthy one will try."_ She bowed once, then straightened again, chin tilted proudly.

It was a start, Harry decided.

_"This is _amazing_," _Meldir gushed, _"You're the _prince!_"_

Harry rolled his eyes.

* * *

_So, has it really been two years? Wow. Well, I won't bore you all with the details of my life, you can read about that in my profile, as I **do** still keep that updated...every once in a while. It's how you know I'm not dead. Seriously._

_This chapter gave me a lot of trouble. I needed to get some filler bg in, but I hated the way I did it the first time around. At the same time, I didn't want to drag it out any longer than it was already. So I just revised some of the syntax/style, threw in a few extra scenes, etc...but the bit that really killed me was the scene with Meldir and Taswa and trying to keep it a) in character and b) in keeping with the social rules of Elwyn. I rewrote it several times and in the end I've just decided to hell with it, Harry may be a little OOC, but I'm not going to rewrite it again. At least not at the moment. I'd appreciate feedback nonetheless. Besides, I figure you'd all prefer a subpar chapter over no chapter at all, yes?_

_On a brighter note, I think I'm going to post a poll on my profile about expanding fandoms. Anyone who's interested please take a gander. I've got a lot of fics I work on when I get stuck on my other writing in a LOT of fandoms and I'm curious to know how many of you would be interested in some of the other fandoms I've written for._

Although I promise I won't post anything that doesn't have a decent buffer...

I'm going to try to get the next chapter out sooner than last time. Um. Yes. So...don't give up on me?

Cheers all,

Ria 

_Posted: 10 April 2014  
Edited: 10 April 2014_


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